The Indestructible Niche
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke and Rogan bring Marina back to Fantasy Island to further research their cure, while Christian tends to an emergency situation in Boston that holds some unpleasant surprises. Fourth in the "Niche" series
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Looks like I managed to finish the next installment of this series earlier than I thought. It's been a long time since I wrote one that quickly! Here's a late Christmas gift; hope you enjoy!_

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><p>§ § § – September 27, 2008<p>

It was so late when the charter approached Fantasy Island that only the stars were out to witness their disembarkation at the plane dock. Roarke had instructed the pilot to radio ahead so that some of his employees would be waiting at the dock with rovers and extra manpower to unload all the crates and boxes they had brought from Italy. Lucan was asleep and Marina looked as if she wanted to be; Rogan yawned every few minutes, scowling from time to time. The gentle bump of their landing didn't disturb Lucan at all; since Marina had to carry him, they allowed her out of the plane first, then followed her with two or three boxes apiece. After that, a steady stream of natives, working by floodlights set up near the clearing, completed unloading the plane and transferring everything to the waiting cars. Rogan glanced around as he headed back for another box or two. "I'm looking forward to getting back home to Julie and Rory," he muttered through another yawn. "I hope like hell we don't have to go back to Italy, if we can't find a cure here."

"There would be no point," Marina said, glaring at him. "If we can't find a cure here, on this island, then we'll find it nowhere, for it won't exist."

"Save your energy," Roarke advised. "We must get everything hidden away in the greenhouse before we retire for the night, I'm afraid. Remember," and here he raised his voice for the benefit of the natives, "none of you is to breathe a word to anyone else about this. What little you do know, you must keep to yourselves." There was a murmured consensus, but the natives never stopped moving.

At last the cars were loaded and heading for the bed-and-breakfast inn that Julie ran. Marina rubbed one eye, still holding her son, and peered at what she could see of it in the softly lit night. "How pretty," she mused. "Oh, Mr. Roarke...where will Lucan and I stay?"

"The cottage that once belonged to my former assistant Tattoo is empty," Roarke told her. "We normally use it only when there are more guests than accommodations. Since everything else is full, you and Lucan may make that your home while you're here."

"You'll feel like Gulliver," Rogan commented with sleepy humor. "It's sized for him, so everything's miniaturized. The lad'll fit in fine, but you may find yourself sleeping on the floor under a rug."

"Rogan, I think it might be the better part of discretion for you to cease and desist," Roarke scolded him. "The cottage was renovated after Tattoo left the island, Marina, so you should feel comfortable there. For the moment, let's get to work."

It took fifteen minutes to unload everything again and take it into the greenhouse; then Rogan, with a slurred good-night farewell, headed for the big stone house nearby while Roarke delivered Marina and Lucan to the cottage. He found it a great relief to reach the main house and let himself in; the study was empty and dark, though as he crossed it toward the stairs, the grandfather clock softly chimed 1 AM. Roarke hoped there would be too much preoccupation with the fantasies for Leslie to ask many questions; he planned to tell her eventually, but he wanted to keep Christian in the dark for now. There was too much at stake and Christian was too volatile when it came to amakarna, and they had made far too little progress for Roarke to have much more than hope and determination about their research. He glanced into Leslie's old room, where she and Christian were both sound asleep, and smiled faintly before retreating into his own room for a good night's rest.

§ § §

Dawn was only just beginning to stain the eastern sky; but though Leslie's old dormer room in the main house faced east, the windowshade was down so that there was no sign of daybreak in the room. It wasn't much past five; so when Christian's cell phone began playing the _jordisk_ national anthem, it had all the impact of a thunderclap. Both Enstads jerked awake, moaning in chorus. "Who the hell is _that?"_ Leslie complained sleepily.

Christian muttered something in _jordiska_ that Leslie suspected was objectionable, a phrase he had yet to teach her since she didn't understand it, and reached out to slap the table on his side of the bed till his hand landed on the phone. "Enstad," he muttered, then stifled a groan. "Ben?" His voice was ominous, despite its sleep-induced scratchiness. "Do you realize what time it is here?"

For a moment Leslie frowned, then placed the name: Ben Keller, the manager of Christian's Boston office. Keller had run the place with a deft hand ever since Christian had completed the hiring when it had first opened; thus Christian had never yet been back. She wondered what had happened. The light snapped on and she screwed her eyes more tightly shut in protest.

The mattress began to jiggle and quake, violently enough for Leslie to open her eyes and see Christian pushing himself into a seated position. A scowl bloomed and deepened on his face; at last he demanded, "When did this happen?" Keller's answer made him close his eyes and shake his head. "No, don't do anything yet—just have Janine draft a newspaper ad and call it in. What's the local paper there again? Yes, the _Globe_. No, it's all right that you called me—you were right, I'll want to see to this myself. I'll give you a call and update you when I get my flights scheduled. All right, yes, do that. Goodbye." He ended the call before Keller could trap him into a run-on conversation and looked wearily at Leslie.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He sighed. "I know you're not feeling well, and I'm sorry, my Rose, but there's an emergency of sorts in Boston. Keller just informed me that I'm going to have to hire two new computer technicians. One quit because her husband is being transferred to another state; and the other had a massive heart attack, which as I understand it will confine him to bed rest indefinitely, if not permanently. I'll have to fly out to Boston and oversee the hiring of replacements." He smiled wryly. "I'm sure you'll remember Keller's demeanor—hell bent for suede and that sort of thing—"

"Hell bent for leather, my love, not suede," Leslie corrected him with a snicker.

"My apologies," said Christian with that raised brow. She grinned at him, and he chuckled back, relaxing a little. "In any case, it means I'll have to fly out of here as soon as I can make flight reservations and pack some things. Likely I'll be gone at least a week, more like two, depending on how long it takes to find good candidates."

Leslie's smile vanished and she went limp where she lay, sighing heavily. "You're right, I still don't feel well, and I'm pretty sure I've got whatever bug Noelle and Lauren came down with. Probably some sort of stomach flu." She blew out an exasperated breath. "I just hope I can last till the guests go home tomorrow morning. It'll be bad enough as it is, but it's always worse if you're gone, for some reason."

Christian smiled at her and stroked her hair. "You know perfectly well I'd rather take you with me, but obviously that just wouldn't work. All I can do is promise that I'll be back as soon as humanly possible." He lifted the phone again. "To that end, let me start making airline reservations. The sooner I go, the sooner I come home."

An hour later, with Christian scheduled to depart on the ten-o'clock charter, they were both up and awaiting breakfast in the study while he watched her go through more of the bills that Roarke's business tended to generate so many of. "I don't suppose you'll join me for the morning repast," Christian said humorously.

She shot him a look from under her bangs, without lifting her head. "If I do, I'll be strictly a spectator. No doubt Mariki's going to accuse me of starving myself again."

"If she does," remarked a voice from the stairs, "I'll explain things to her." Leslie and Christian looked sharply around and goggled at sight of Roarke.

"Father! You're back early!" Leslie exclaimed, with great relief.

"You have quite the sense of timing, Mr. Roarke," Christian commented. "Leslie's been doing quite well, I think, since you left; but lately there have been problems. Noelle and Lauren have taken ill, and it looks as if Leslie is beginning to come down with whatever they have. And I myself have to leave for Boston because it's necessary for me to replace two of my employees there."

"I see," Roarke said, coming into the room. "Perhaps you two can fill me in more fully over breakfast. Leave the bills for later, Leslie; I'll handle them after you've updated me. I presume the children are still asleep?"

"They'll be awake before much longer, if habit holds true," Christian said, checking his Rolex. "I have to admit, I'm hungry this morning. It's just as well, because I suspect they won't be feeding me, even on the long-distance flights."

They were just about to go out to the veranda for breakfast when the triplets came thundering down the stairs in all their pajama-clad splendor. The moment they spied Roarke, they all shrieked in joyful welcome and threw themselves at him for hugs. Christian and Leslie watched, laughing softly, as Roarke managed to devote sufficient attention to all three children that they were soon a little calmer, though they clustered around him as the family made their way to the breakfast table.

The children chattered at their grandfather as Mariki appeared and began doling out serving dishes; the adults let them carry on for a minute, as it prevented Mariki from asking questions about Leslie's lack of enthusiasm for the meal. When she was gone and Christian had filled his plate, he lifted a hand. "Enough, the three of you. Your grandfather can't make any sense of your words if you all talk at the same time. Let him choose one of you and you can take turns telling your stories."

"Me first!" Tobias insisted immediately.

Susanna and Karina glared at their brother, but Roarke chuckled and indulged him. "All right, Tobias, go ahead." Tobias promptly started talking, and Susanna chimed in here and there till she got her turn. As Leslie listened, she got the sense that Roarke—unusually tolerant of his grandchildren's eager gabbing—was allowing them to have their say for more reasons than merely giving them a chance to let off steam. She considered asking, but she had learned over time that Roarke would talk when he was ready, and not till then.

_"Herregud,"_ Christian remarked when Susanna finally wound up her report, "even I didn't know about some of that. I'm sure much of it was exaggerated." He glanced at Leslie as he said this, and she grinned. "That leaves one. It's your turn, Karina."

"What have you been doing lately, sweetheart?" Roarke inquired of her.

Karina looked at Roarke with shining eyes. "I got to do Mommy's job!"

"You did not!" Susanna blared out, her face radiating outrage.

"Did so!" Karina shot back smugly. "You be quiet, it's my turn—Daddy said." So saying, she proceeded to tell Roarke about Tobias', Susanna's and Kevin's transgressions with her plush cat (which she had brought to the breakfast table and showed off to her grandfather with an indignant zeal that made Christian and Leslie grin at each other), and how in the aftermath Leslie had made the other children hunt down the missing toy while Karina was given the privilege of accompanying her mother on some rounds. This got them through most of the remainder of breakfast; Susanna and Tobias, eyeing Karina with black glares, finished eating while Karina talked. Brianna appeared as she finished and Christian checked his Rolex again before helping himself to more of Mariki's breakfast casserole.

The children were excused, and they tumbled out of their chairs, Karina grabbing her bedraggled plush cat as she left. Roarke nodded a greeting to Brianna before turning to his daughter and son-in-law. "So...how much of that was accurate?" he asked teasingly.

Christian and Leslie laughed. "Most of it was right," Leslie said. "What they failed to mention was that I'm not feeling so well myself, and that apparently Karina bragged about what she got to do, because Susanna came down late yesterday afternoon before Christian got off work and tried to talk me into letting her come along to make my last check on the Reardon fantasy for the day. I had to turn her down—after all, it's a time-travel fantasy, and I don't think we're quite ready to turn a four-year-old loose in the past."

Roarke chuckled. "A wise choice," he lauded. "Christian, you seem to be in something of a hurry, and I don't think I've ever seen you eat that much."

Christian smiled ruefully. "I'm quite hungry for some reason." He glanced at his wife. "I expected to worry about Leslie while I was gone, but with you back I'll have less of a burden on my mind." He drew in a breath and shifted gears, his expression sobering. "I presume your trip was fruitless. I can't say I'm surprised; amakarna is apparently one of those unavoidable evils of life."

"We returned a little early primarily because Giancarlo Ognissanti did the same," said Roarke. Leslie noticed he had dodged addressing Christian's assumption, and filed it away to ask him about later. "It was felt it might be best to avoid any confrontation."

Christian stilled and stared at him. "Giancarlo Ognissanti?" he repeated. "Are you telling me you were in Italy, at the LiSciola villa? Well, for fate's sake, what exactly were you doing there, and why did you have to take Rogan with you?"

Roarke, too, went still and studied the prince before replying, "Christian, I believe your flight out is scheduled to leave within the next eighty minutes, and you undoubtedly have a fair amount of packing to do. News of the trip will keep; you have other concerns to think about, and Leslie and I need to see to the fantasies."

Christian peered at him, enormous suspicion on his face, but gave in. Leslie had to smile; Christian, too, had learned when not to push Roarke. "Very well, but I do expect to have a full update at the earliest opportunity. You know perfectly well I'm interested in anything to do with that spice, because of my nieces. But you're right about the time, so I'll let it go this once. Leslie, my Rose, would you mind helping me pack?"

Leslie acquiesced; she had heard that inevitable imperial tone in her husband's voice, but knew at the same time that Roarke could be the immovable object to Christian's unstoppable force when it was necessary. She followed him out to the car and settled into the passenger seat while he piloted the vehicle out of the lane and on toward home.

After a few miles he glanced at her. "I've been thinking. Presumably Mr. Roarke got back sometime last night when we were asleep. He hasn't even mentioned whether they had a good flight, or even if Rogan came back with him." He flicked a glance into the rearview mirror before continuing, "But since he's never left the island for any reason before this, I have no way of knowing if his uncommunicative way is normal with him."

Leslie giggled. "Don't ask me, I don't know either. Christian, my love, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. You've got other things to handle right now. And I admit, I'm actually less interested in Father's trip, and the reason he went, than I am in wishing _you_ didn't have to go. I always miss you when you're gone."

"I miss you too, my Rose, believe me," Christian assured her. His soft look grew into a teasing grin. "But I don't think you or even I need worry about Janine Polidari. I've had nothing but excellent reports about her from Keller, so I'm satisfied that she's truly matured and I won't have any trouble from her." She laughed, as he'd hoped, and he squeezed her hand and turned his full attention back to his driving.

At the plane dock a bit more than an hour later, Christian—now dressed in a suit and tie, which merely made him all the more irresistible to Leslie—glanced at the plane, consulted his Rolex for the dozenth time that morning, and set down the laptop case he carried in order to give each triplet a hug. "Where you going, Daddy?" Tobias wanted to know.

"A place called Boston, very far from here," Christian explained. "I have an office there that's just like the one here in town. I have to fix some problems there, but I promise I'll be coming back, so Mommy will bring you here to meet me then if she can."

"I want to go with you, Daddy," Susanna said.

"Sorry, _lillan min,"_ Christian said with a little laugh, tousling her hair. "Another time, perhaps. Maybe while I'm gone, you can help your mother and Ingrid around the house, and if Grandfather says it's all right, you might help him a little with something too. In fact, all three of you, why don't you go over and ask him if he has something for you to do for him?" He watched the triplets light up at this idea and flock to Roarke, all clamoring at once; then he grinned and sauntered to Leslie, drawing her into his embrace.

"Sneaky," Leslie said, half accusing, half laughing.

"You know there was a good reason I did that. I want to say a proper goodbye, and I know you'd have been thoroughly annoyed with me if I didn't," he retorted with a grin. "If you don't mind, let me say that goodbye before I miss the plane." Without giving her a chance to respond, he lowered his head and kissed her, as always making a complete job of it so that she wanted only to hold onto him and never let him loose.

"You really do say a hell of a goodbye," she admitted breathlessly when he released her. "Trouble is, it makes me not want to say goodbye at all."

He grinned at that. "In that case, let's make it a little easier." He popped a quick, perfunctory peck on her cheek and lifted the laptop case, turning away as if to leave.

"Oh no you don't, Christian Enstad," she shot out threateningly, grabbing his arm, and he dropped the case again and let her tug him back, laughing. Chuckling back, she pulled him into a long hug, sobering. "Be safe, my darling, and please call me when you land in Boston, will you? I wish you had a more certain timetable. These open-ended trips are a real pain in the butt because I don't know when you'll be home."

"You think I live for these things, then?" he retorted with a slight chuckle. "I promise to give you word as soon as the pilot gives clearance for passengers to place phone calls. I suspect Keller will be there again, trying to treat me like royalty, and I admit I'm not really looking forward to dealing with him. I mean...he means well, but he doesn't realize how overpowering and wearying he can be. I'm worried he'll insist on putting me up in his own home." He rolled his eyes while she snickered. "Not to worry, I'll get around that." His expression softened again and he gently smoothed her hair back from her face, placing a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you, my Leslie Rose, and I'll call when I get there."

"I love you too, Christian, my darling. I'll be waiting." They shared one last kiss just as the final boarding call came, and Christian released a resigned sigh before squeezing her, letting her go, picking up the laptop case and hurrying for the dock in his customary hasty leavetaking. She watched him, already feeling lonelier.

"Did you have sufficient time to render proper farewells, then?" inquired Roarke in a wry tone from beside her, and she looked around to see him shift his glance to the plane, where the attendants were just closing the hatch after Christian. The triplets were chasing each other around the clearing, shrieking and laughing.

"Of course we did, Christian saw to that," she said with a smirk, and he chuckled, shaking his head. Leslie let her attention drift back to the plane. "He promised to call, but I think he's afraid Keller's going to try to play host when he gets to Boston."

"I have no doubt Christian will be deft at handling Ben Keller," Roarke assured her, ushering her along toward the waiting car with a hand between her shoulder blades. "We'd better return to the main house; there's plenty to be done."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § – September 27, 2008

Leslie called for the triplets, and within a few minutes they were back in Roarke's study, with the children having gone out with Brianna for an excursion in the little wading pool near the regular adult swimming pool. They had been gone less than five minutes when Roarke set aside the checkbook he and Leslie had been working with earlier that morning and focused on his daughter. "Since we are finally alone here and Christian is well and truly out of earshot," he said, completely serious, "I think it's safe to talk."

"About what?" Leslie asked, setting aside the letter she had been about to slit open.

"My true purpose in taking Rogan to Italy," he said. She sat up in surprise, and he smiled privately; she had been absentmindedly massaging her stomach ever since they'd returned to the main house, but seemed to forget all about it now. "I wanted to wait till Christian in particular could not overhear, because I'm afraid his reaction would be far too violent. His journey to Boston was extremely fortuitous." Leslie eyed him with some suspicion, and he gave her a mildly reproving look. "No, that was not my doing."

She snorted softly, but relented. "Okay, okay. But just why do you want Christian kept in the dark?"

In the next few minutes Roarke filled her in on what he and Rogan had been doing in Italy, while her eyes got bigger and bigger. "As you're aware now, we returned last night, very late, and brought with us all the equipment we will need to continue the research." He waited a beat, then added, "We also brought back Marina and her young son."

Leslie's spine snapped even straighter in the chair and she blew out a breath, her eyes all but round by now. "Whoo. Then it _is_ a good thing Christian's not here." Roarke nodded, and she considered what she had heard. "So...Marina thought she had found the antidote, but in the end it didn't work after all."

"That's not quite true, my child," Roarke corrected her. "It did work, at least for a few days. Since it does seem to have had some effect, even only a temporary one, I feel that avenue is worth pursuit. However, it's clear that this is not the full answer; besides, we aren't sure precisely what property of the spice is affected by this particular plant."

"What plant was it?" she asked.

Roarke frowned. "Jimsonweed."

"I thought that was a narcotic," said Leslie, astonished. "Oh boy! Rogan must've really blown his top when she told you what she was taking."

"Indeed. In any case, since he has such extensive botanical knowledge, he will continue to test various plants in the hope of discovering others that may have some effect; and I will research the history and traditional uses of the spice among the clans, so that perhaps we will find additional clues in the texts."

"What's Marina going to do? For that matter, why did she insist on coming to the island in the first place?" Leslie asked. "Because, speaking of blown tops, Christian's will go sky-high if he finds out she's here. Well, not _if_, more like _when."_

"You had better hope that Christian spends the maximum time in Boston and that it takes us the minimum time to find a proper counter-agent," Roarke said with a touch of humor, "or else if I am to believe your words, all hell will break loose around here." She grinned reluctantly; he noticed her hand had strayed back to her stomach and was massaging again, probably without her knowing it. "To answer your question, Marina insists on being the test subject for each substance...the guinea pig, if you will."

"But that could be fatal," Leslie said. This merely got an _oh really?_ look from her father, and she smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm stating the obvious. I think all three of us—Michiko and Lauren and I—have been sort of channeling Tattoo lately. Isn't there some other way to test possible cures, or antidotes, or whatever you want to call them?"

"If there were any other way, we would try it," Roarke said. "Unfortunately, as I have managed to ascertain, no other living creature on earth is susceptible in any way to the effects of amakarna—only human beings. Since it is necessary for Marina to have a daily dose of the spice anyhow, she insisted on being our living proving ground. She felt it unwise in the extreme to remain in Italy after her husband's return, for fear that he would discover what she was trying to do and perhaps retaliate in some fashion."

"Well, why on earth would he do that?" Leslie asked.

Roarke relaxed back in his chair. "I think Marina can best explain that to you," he said. "Suffice it for me to say for the moment that she brought her son, Lucan, with her for the child's own safety, as I understand it."

Leslie, whose hand had once more been moving restlessly over her abdomen, stilled again; Roarke nodded, knowing she had read between the lines. After a moment she asked, "Why would she fear for Lucan's safety? I thought she adored her husband—Christian told me once that she mentioned to Arnulf, the day he annulled their marriage, that she'd been in love with Giancarlo since she was nine years old and couldn't wait to be his wife."

"That was then, Leslie," said Roarke gently. "I've been given to understand that he is a much changed man, thanks to the trade in black lightning, for which he is solely responsible. It is he who produces the drug, distributes it to his dealers in various parts of the world, and collects the payment for it each month. After his many failures at all manner of other jobs, I suspect at first Marina's father, the count, was relieved to find that Giancarlo had at last stumbled upon something he could succeed at. But the acquisition of wealth seems to have altered his personality—whether irrevocably or not, I don't know. It's Marina's hope that if we are able to eradicate black lightning and its addictive properties, Giancarlo will be forced to find some other vocation, and perhaps as a result he will revert to the man she once knew. Her words, her hopes." His eyes had gone unfocused and distant. "Love may be all-conquering, my dear daughter, but sometimes it needs a little help."

"Well, then, I suppose you should get started," Leslie suggested with a little smile.

Roarke came back to the moment and chuckled. "Not immediately. We were all quite tired from the long flights, and there is jet lag to consider; so I'll concentrate on the fantasies for the remainder of the weekend, and allow Rogan, Marina and Lucan the chance to recuperate and adjust to the local time zone. Lucan is only a year younger than the triplets, so perhaps they will become playmates. Brianna may find herself earning a great deal of extra babysitting money, between watching Lauren's son and now Marina's."

"Noelle too, I think," Leslie agreed, "once she gets over whatever she has." As if the words were a signal of some sort, she suddenly hiccuped and wrapped both arms around her stomach. "Be right back," she croaked before leaping from the chair and racing upstairs as though there were wings on her feet. Roarke watched her go, shaking his head, smiling ruefully. It appeared he'd come home just in time!

§ § § - September 29, 2008

There was no word from Christian till after Leslie had taken the children home on Monday morning, nursing a stomach that refused to give her a second's respite. Ingrid noted her mistress' condition and insisted she go to bed, that she would take care of the triplets and handle everything else. Once Leslie had changed into her most comfortable sleepwear and had been lying quietly in bed for an hour or so, her stomach had at last consented to calm down enough that she was dozing lightly, on her way to a deeper sleep.

Then the phone in the library jolted her awake and her stomach began doing a long series of somersaults. Cursing silently to herself, Leslie squeezed her eyes shut, opening them only when Ingrid poked her head around the wall partition that split the stairway off from the master bedroom and said in _jordiska_, "Princess Leslie, it's Prince Christian."

"Oh, thank goodness," Leslie blurted in English, before managing to dredge her somewhat shaky _jordiska_ out of her memory. "Bring me the phone from the library, Ingrid, would you please?" The servant complied, and Leslie smiled her thanks and lifted it to her ear, relieved to switch back to English. "Hi, my love, what took you so long to call?"

Christian grunted. "I'm sorry, my Rose, I should have called earlier, but when I landed at Logan Airport, I discovered my phone had died and needed recharging. By the time there was enough power to make a call, it was too late in your part of the world, so I left it till I knew it would be less intrusive. I changed my watch to Boston time just for the sake of expediency, but my phone still shows Fantasy Island time, so I knew you would most likely be home by now. How do you feel?"

"Like crap," said Leslie bluntly, and he laughed. "I threw up half a dozen times yesterday, but I wasn't about to desert Father, what with Lauren and Noelle still out and Michiko in that fantasy. Which is a whole separate story in itself, actually, but first—tell me what's going on. Have you found out anything new?"

"No, I really haven't. For one thing, it's still Sunday here, and for another, it wasn't Keller who met me at the airport: it was Janine Polidari. There was something odd about her; she seemed a little skittish, as if she were afraid of something."

"Probably you," Leslie said humorously, "considering she'll likely never forget that one humiliating afternoon when she threw herself at you..."

"It's not that," Christian interrupted her, and her amusement died at his tone. "I could see something was bothering her and asked her if anything was wrong, but she said only that it was better if I got to a hotel as soon as possible and she would talk to me tomorrow. Today for you. Ach, this time-zone business is such a pile of fishtails."

She laughed at his translated _jordisk_ slang. "Nothing we can do about it. Did she give you any hint at all as to what might be bugging her?"

"Nothing. I did ask her where Keller is, and she said he had called her, along with all the other employees here, to tell them that I was on my way and that they should appear at the office tomorrow so that I could talk to them. She said then that she asked him if he would be there as well, and he told her he was feeling quite ill and would have to skip it. It sounds like nothing, and I was inclined to dismiss it as such, but Janine insists this is the first time Keller has ever been too sick to work."

"That still doesn't mean anything, necessarily," Leslie observed. "Sooner or later we all get laid low by something. It was just his turn, that's all."

"Mmm, that's my thought as well. But Janine seems to be of another mind entirely, so I suppose I'll have to draw her out. In the meantime, she handed me a small stack of paper applications that have been on file for the last year or so, and an ad will be appearing in the newspapers here starting tomorrow; so at least I have something to do."

"Well, good, then you won't be bored and have to resort to watching trashy reality crap on TV. Have you had a chance to go through them yet?"

"A few, but mostly I've taken it easy. My sense of time is completely skewed, and I need to try to nap a little. Not too much, so that when local night falls tomorrow, I'll be tired enough to sleep properly and that will complete my readjustment. So...as to you...it seems you've officially caught whatever Lauren and Noelle have."

"Yup. Father sent me home this morning right after we got back from the plane dock. It was just us, because when Michiko came out of the Reardon fantasy, she was so upset and unhappy that she couldn't talk about whatever had happened. She asked Father if she could be excused and go back to her mother's place, and he agreed, but he told her not to hold it in for too long and to talk to someone about it. I'm not a hundred percent certain of this, but I got a clue about it this morning."

"Oh? Now what fantasy was this, my Rose?"

"Mitchell Reardon—the guy from North Dakota who wanted to take part in a big Hollywood movie musical, circa 1948 or so. Michiko was supposed to be one of the background dancers in the movie he was making. But back then you never saw anything other than Caucasian dancers in these things, so Father left a potion for Michiko to use to turn her into a statuesque platinum blonde."

"Well enough, I follow you so far. What do you think may have happened?"

"Something might've developed between Michiko and Reardon, because when we said goodbye at the plane dock, he looked a little depressed. He mentioned a beautiful blonde chorus girl with an amazing voice and wished he could see her again. Like I said, I'm not sure it was Michiko, but what with her reaction and her refusal to come to the plane dock today, and the way he described her in her disguise, my gut says they must have had a fling and it affected Michiko more than she thought."

"Problems, problems everywhere," Christian mused through a sigh. His voice was light, though, and Leslie had to smile. "We'll get to the bottom of them, never fear, my Rose. It just takes some time."

"I know. We have our share of that, for sure..." She gasped as her stomach pitched, and cried, "Stay on the line, please, I'll be right back!" Dropping the cordless phone, she rolled off the bed and fled to the bathroom, where she threw up whatever she had tried to drink that morning at breakfast and then endured a couple of rounds of dry heaves before her stomach stopped spasming. She rinsed out her mouth, wiped her face and picked her way back to the bed. She could hear Christian's voice from the phone and lifted it to her ear. "Calm down, my love, it's okay now...I just threw up again."

_"Heilige hjusande ödet,"_ he swore, and she grinned weakly at the oath, which had been one of his late father's favorites. "I wasn't sure that's what it was. All I could hear were horrible gagging noises in the distance. Are you really all right?"

"As all right as I can be under the circumstances. Ingrid's handling the housework and watching out for the kids, so—" She caught herself when a small face peered around the partition at the stairway; it belonged to Susanna. "Hold on a second, my love. What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Ingrid said you're sick," Susanna said, padding into the room, eyes wide.

"I am, sweetie, and I just threw up again. What is it? I'm on the phone."

"Who is it?" Susanna asked, and when Leslie told her, she lit up. "Can I talk to Daddy, please, Mommy? I wanna tell him what we did yesterday."

"Hang on," Leslie said and relayed their daughter's request to Christian, who laughed and told her to put Susanna on the line. While the child was talking, Leslie resettled herself into the bed, moving gingerly in an attempt to keep her stomach from inciting another violent rebellion, and listened with half an ear to Susanna's chatter, thinking about Michiko all the while and wondering if she should give her friend a call at some point. Michiko was still dealing with Cat's chilly aloofness, so she hardly needed whatever was bothering her in the wake of this past weekend.

"Okay, Daddy," Susanna said suddenly. "Bye." She handed Leslie the phone. "Daddy wants to talk to you again."

Leslie took the phone and smiled a little. "I guess you're all updated now."

"Seems so...apparently the children were busy little bees yesterday. Don't let her hang around you too much, my Rose, you don't need the burden of nursemaiding any of the children as long as you yourself are ill." His voice gentled. "For that matter, I should let you rest. Shoo her out, my darling, and then try to take a nap; it might help you feel better."

"I hate to hang up, but I guess you're right. Well, give me a call when you have something worth telling me about, will you?"

"I will, I promise you that. Give my love to Tobias and Karina, and remember, I love you very much. Get well."

"You stay well, my love. Talk to you later," she murmured, and they disconnected.

"Is Daddy coming home soon?" Susanna asked.

"Honey, he only just got there. It's going to be a while. I need to try to rest, so why don't you go find your brother and sister and play with them. I don't want you to catch what I have, or you'll be throwing up all over the place too."

Susanna sighed. "Okay." With a hangdog look that made her mother grin, she plodded off to the stairs and disappeared, and Leslie finally succeeded in falling asleep this time, still mulling over Michiko.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § – September 29, 2008 – Boston, Massachusetts

By the time Monday was well under way in the northeastern US, Christian had been in his computer-repair office for an hour or so, having been brought over by a taxi called for him at the hotel's front desk. It was almost nine and he expected his employees to begin arriving any moment now; because of the absences of three of his staff, he had decided to close the office till noon. This office served all of southern New England, which was the reason his staff here was larger than in his other branches; there were eleven employees in all, including Keller and Janine. He expected to see only eight.

He had just finished a long phone conversation with Jörgen, the manager in his original Sundborg branch in Lilla Jordsö, when his local staff began to trickle in. They gave him deferential greetings and settled nervously at their desks; it was only the second time they had seen him, and he realized he probably seemed larger than life. He sighed inwardly; he'd have to do his best to put them at ease before he started digging into what was going on around here. He leaned back in his seat and suddenly grinned to himself; it had been a few years since he'd taken over this storefront, but he swore he could still catch the occasional whiff of the products from the perfumery that had previously occupied the space.

Janine arrived in the company of another woman; they were the last to appear, and when they did, Christian got up and locked the door behind them, leaving the sign in the window displayed to _CLOSED_. Then he wandered back to Keller's desk, where he had been sitting, and surveyed the small group. "Well," he said by way of greeting, "I'm sorry my first visit back here had to be under such unfortunate circumstances, but I must say it's good to see you. Now before I really disgrace myself, please introduce yourselves to me, if you will. I already know Janine." He smiled at his receptionist, still the youngest of his staff here, and she managed a return smile.

Names went around, and he made careful note of each one before nodding. "Thank you for coming. Now it's my understanding that Ellen Hazelton had to quit because she and her husband are moving to another state, and that Howard Welles was felled by a massive heart attack."

"Ellen Baselton, Your Highness," ventured the woman who had come in with Janine. She had introduced herself as Katherine Anderson; Christian thought she looked no more than about thirty, if that. "But yes, you're right. Howard had the attack Saturday night, and Ben called us all yesterday morning to let us know. He's at Mass General, and I guess it's bad enough that only his family can see him—and even then only for a few minutes."

Christian nodded. "I see, thank you, Katherine—and for the correction as well. Now, as to Ben...Janine has informed me he's ill, so we won't see him here today." Surprised looks ran around the group, and he noted this with a slight frown, especially when he caught Janine's latest spooked expression. He really had to talk to her. Settling on the edge of Keller's desk, he took in the faces and drew in a breath. "I'm going to be here for at least a week, possibly two—unless we have difficulties in hiring someone to replace Ellen and a temporary worker for Howard. I took a little inventory when I came in here, and I can see you folks are very busy indeed." He got a chorus of chuckles in response and smiled. "What I need to know right now is the average turnaround time for repair projects, whether you have busier periods and slower periods, and how much work is waiting to be done as I speak. Andrew, suppose you give me the statistics."

Having taken charge, he saw he had put his staff a bit more at ease, and the meeting went smoothly, though he still sensed a nervous reserve in the air. As soon as business had been conducted, he resettled himself on the edge of Keller's desk and regarded the group with a thoughtful look. "All right...with that cleared up, I should mention that I'll be in here each day, and I'll help out with repairs and design projects where needed, in between conducting interviews. Janine was kind enough to give me some applications, and I've made a few phone calls already; but we have an ad in the _Globe_, and I expect a fair amount of foot traffic in here through the next week or two. If you think this will disturb you in any way, let me know, and I'll make accommodations."

"It might work out better if you have the interviews right there at Ben's desk," said Tracey Savage, a thirtyish graphic designer who appeared to be good friends with Katherine Anderson. "We'd sort of like to get the measure of the different candidates. Ben's opened up another business up in Danvers, and he had to do some of the interviews right there at his desk. So we had a chance to see those folks."

Christian leaned forward slightly with surprise. "He has another business? In what field, if I might ask?"

"This has to do with computers too," said Tracey, "but it's sales, not repair. He's got about eight people there. He spends roughly six hours a day at each location, every single day. I have no idea where he gets the energy." This met with soft laughter, and Christian grinned as well, recalling the gung-ho Bostonian who'd so brazenly strolled into his Fantasy Island office and proposed managing a branch office for him.

"No wonder he finally fell ill," the prince commented with a chuckle. "Well, all right then. I'll keep the office closed till noon so you can play a little catch-up, but I'm also here to talk individually with each of you through the day. Tracey, why don't you come sit over here at Ben's desk, and we'll have a little chat. Janine, you're likely to get phone calls in regard to the open positions, so go ahead and take them, and tell them they can pick up applications after twelve." Janine nodded and headed for her desk; the others scattered, and Christian retreated behind Keller's desk to talk with Tracey Savage.

By the end of the day, which was at six, Christian had had fairly in-depth discussions with six of his eight employees; this left only Katherine Anderson and Janine, and he had it in mind to talk with them the next day. Gathering up a new stack of applications that had been filled out throughout the afternoon, he let Janine, Katherine and Tracey out ahead of him and meandered some steps behind them toward the nearby parking garage, fishing for his cell phone so he could call a taxi.

As he got off the line, he became aware that the three women had stopped near the street entrance to the garage, talking earnestly. Before he could decide whether to join them while waiting for his taxi, he overheard Katherine Anderson's voice: "Come on, Janine, you know you have to tell, if you actually saw something."

"Why should I?" Janine asked. "Nobody believes me. Even you two don't believe me."

"Because if you suspect something and you don't report it, and it turns out to be right, and something horrible happens..." Tracey began, trailing off as she became aware that Christian was within earshot. He took note that they'd spotted him at the same moment Janine and Katherine realized he was there, and they stared at him as if they'd been caught in the act of stealing computers out of the office.

Christian's suspicions had bloomed all of a sudden, and he signaled sternly at them. "I think we'd all better have a chat," he said firmly. "It's going to be some time before my taxi arrives, so we may as well go back into the office and have our talk there." He pulled the keys from another pocket and waited till the women had caught up with him before ushering them along in front of him, then letting them all back into the office and locking it again behind them. He gestured at the desks and told them to bring the nearest three chairs over in front of Keller's desk, and watched them go about this while he took his seat there once more and waited for them to settle down.

"Now what exactly is going on?" he wanted to know. "Janine, if you have something to tell me, I think it's best you just come out with it. To be honest, I've wondered what's been bothering you ever since you picked me up at the airport." He watched Janine cringe and her face grow crimson, and drummed his fingers on the desktop for a moment before focusing on Tracey. "What has she told you, then?"

Tracey glanced at Janine, then cleared her throat. "Well, you see, Your Highness, it started about a month ago. Maybe a little more than that, I'm not completely sure. Anyway, Ben let it be known that he'd been thinking about opening up yet a third business. We all thought either he was the world's worst workaholic, or he must have some sort of gambling problem he was trying to pay for." She essayed a nervous giggle that elicited a like response from Katherine; Janine tried to shrink in her chair, and Christian humored Tracey with a quick half-smile, gesturing for her to go on. "But we didn't really think that much about it. Ben's always been a go-getter. We just wished him luck and went on with the business. But in the last few weeks, he's been out more than he's been in, and we assumed he was splitting his time between here and Danvers and running around town looking for a new location for this latest business venture. The weird thing was, he never seemed to get tired. I don't even remember seeing him so much as yawn."

Katherine nodded. "Some of us told him he was going to work himself right into an early grave, but he just laughed and said he was having the time of his life. He's been losing weight, and his marriage fell apart shortly after he opened the place in Danvers, but nothing seemed to bother him. It was like he was obsessed."

"And then last week, Janine says she saw him in the back room where we keep all the spare parts," Tracey said. "It was after hours, I think, and she came back in here for some odd reason or another. We all have a key in case of emergencies—Ben saw to that—and I think she forgot something in here. I don't know what. She half confided in Katherine and me at lunch, but we didn't know whether to believe her or not, and now she refuses to tell anyone. But she keeps acting like someone's after her, so we've been trying to get her to open up. It was almost a relief when Ellen said she had to move and Howard had that heart attack, because that finally put Ben in over his head and he had to contact you."

"So that brings us to the present moment," Christian said, "and to you, Janine." The young woman flinched, and he sat up and leaned over the desk, modulating his voice as if he were consoling one of his children. "Janine, let me assure you right now, you need have no fear of any kind of reprisal. I'll see to it myself. But if you're this badly frightened by what Tracey says you apparently saw, it's best if you let me know."

He watched Janine flick a skittish glance up at him before huddling even farther into herself, shaking her head. Christian thought back for a moment; he could still remember the brash, brazen, homesick teenager who'd so boldly come on to him the summer the triplets were born, and since that time she had matured physically as well as mentally. She was 21 now, attractive and somewhat exotic-looking with her face accented by the Asian features she had inherited from her mother, Camille's sister Andrea. But right this moment, she looked like nothing so much as a terrified little girl.

Katherine finally urged, "Janine, come on, tell him."

Janine threw her a desperate glance, then at last met Christian's gaze head-on and demanded, "They don't really believe me, so why would you?"

Christian sat up again and let himself settle back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest and regarding her with a neutral an expression as he could create. "That depends on just how serious it is, whatever you claim to have seen."

Apparently that was more than Janine could bear, for she cringed again and shook her head violently. "Then I really can't tell you. It'll...it'll get me in so much trouble."

Tracey looked exasperated. "Why on earth would you think that, for Pete's sake?"

"I wish you'd just leave me alone," Janine cried, now quaking visibly. Her face and eyes grew red with the onset of tears and panic. "Stop _pushing_ me!"

Christian made a decision and got to his feet. "All right then...Katherine, Tracey, you two can go on home." They seemed startled, but neither of them protested his edict, though he thought Tracey looked as though she wanted to. He let them out, wished them a safe drive home, and locked himself in with Janine once again, this time taking the chair Tracey had sat in and laying a comforting hand on Janine's arm. "No one else has to know, Janine. You can tell me here and now, and I'll keep it in strict confidence."

"I can't," Janine protested, but more weakly now. Christian reached over to the desk and whipped a tissue out of a box that sat beside the monitor, handing it to her and waiting while she mopped her cheeks. After a moment or two she risked a peek at him and mumbled, "I don't even deserve this nice treatment..."

Christian smiled wryly. "I thought we had agreed to put that behind us when I hired you two and a half years ago."

Janine reddened visibly at that, in addition to her already-flushed features, and ducked her head while he grinned to himself for just a second. "It...it's hard not to remember that," Janine admitted low. "Though I try not to. Even more with you right here."

Christian laughed. "People have done far worse than that, you know." He resettled himself in the chair, regarding her with a more sober mien. "Janine, whatever may have happened in the past, you must understand that if you think you saw something serious that needs to be reported, then it's only right—it's imperative—that you do."

"No revenge from anybody?" Janine asked in a small voice. "Really?"

"Truly. I'm a man of my word," Christian told her. "Now tell me, please."

She nodded a few times, still dabbing at her eyes with the tissue, then slowly filled her lungs to capacity before releasing an even longer exhalation and folding her hands in her lap. She looked up to find Christian watching her expectantly. "Well, Mr. Enstad, it...it's Mr. Keller. I think...I think he's on drugs."

Christian stilled completely for about five seconds, gaping at her, before regaining enough equilibrium to urge sharply, "Explain to me just what you saw."

"It was last week, like Tracey said. I left a little early because I had a date—my boy-friend and I were going out to see a show at the Schubert Theater. But I got halfway home and I realized I forgot my cell phone in my desk, so I came all the way back to get it. I live with my grandparents, and I usually take the T and walk here from the closest station," she explained. Christian nodded, and she continued, "By the time I got back, it was past closing time, so I had to let myself in with my key. I got my phone and I was about to leave, but then I noticed the door to that back room was open a little, and I heard somebody. I thought Mr. Keller was there and I had something I wanted to ask him anyway, so I went over to do that." Her voice broke and she closed her eyes, shuddering. "I was about to ask my question when I saw him pull a needle out of his arm. It was like...like a doctor's syringe, the kind they use to vaccinate you, you know?" Again Christian nodded, encouraging her. "I was just so shocked, I couldn't move for a minute. Then Mr. Keller started to turn around, and I was so afraid he'd catch me there, I just ran. I ran right out the door and didn't even bother locking it. I didn't want him to know I saw him in there." She blew out a shaky breath and stared at Christian in appeal. "That's all I saw, but I know I saw a needle."

Christian muttered something potent in _jordiska_ and let himself go limp in the chair, considering Janine's words. It certainly sounded incriminating enough, but if Janine had been the only one to see him, how could they possibly prove anything? He grew aware that she was watching him, and he managed a smile. "All right, Janine, you can go on home now. Thank you for telling me." Looking relieved, Janine thanked him, erupted from the chair and made her escape, leaving Christian staring out the window wondering what in the world he was going to do now.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § – October 6, 2008 – Fantasy Island

By the time another weekend had come and gone, Roarke had begun to worry about Leslie. Noelle and Lauren had gotten over their stomach flu through the course of a weekend; but though Leslie had quit vomiting as frequently and violently, she seemed to retain vestiges of the illness even well after she should have gotten over it. Roarke noticed she was more fretful lately, and attributed that to Christian's absence—not to mention the fact that he had called only twice since leaving the island and, the second time at least, had said little other than that he was very busy interviewing prospective hires.

This Monday morning marked eight days since Christian's departure; the triplets had stopped asking when he would be coming home, as if they had finally understood that he had to be away for some time. Leslie, still nursing a somewhat irritable stomach, had gone home without fuss, leaving Roarke free to dispatch his numerous staff to their usual duties and a few of those he himself normally did, before going over to Rogan's greenhouse to check on any progress. He found the Irishman in the back room peering into pots filled with long, spindly herbs that sported clusters of tiny yellow-green flowers, muttering to himself in what sounded to Roarke like the Irish Gaelic he recalled hearing from his more distant relatives in times long past. "What word have you, if any?" he inquired.

Rogan glanced up for a second, then went back to squinting into the pots—or, as Roarke shortly ascertained, the flowers. "What do you know about lady's mantle?"

_"Alchemilla xanthochlora,_ known in the vernacular as 'heavenly dew', and _alchemilla mollis,_ sometimes called dewcup. They both grow wild in the interior here, and the dew that collects in the flowers has been said to have magical powers." Roarke approached the pots and studied the flowers; nearly all of them had a few dewdrops inside, thanks to the high humidity in the greenhouse. "I rarely use it, but I've added the dew to the tea of two very pregnant guests I had many years ago, to help prevent premature labor."

Rogan peered at him with interest. "Oh? Y'don't suppose it might have any conceivable use against amakarna, do you?"

"Anything is possible," Roarke allowed. "I had no idea you were growing it in here; it might be useful to collect the dew each morning. In a more mundane application, its infusion is a great aid to the female reproductive system."

Rogan made an interested noise, gently pinching a stem between his thumb and fore-finger and twisting the plant back and forth a bit. "Sounds as if I should experiment with this thing. I was talkin' with Dr. Ordoñez the other day, and he said something about how his wife has been looking for various nausea medications."

"Then it could be to your advantage to work with this. I came to ask about whatever progress you may have made in your research. I myself have gleaned little from the literature I have, but I learned enough to suggest that you may wish to work with valerian, digitalis and mistletoe. One of my sources states that amakarna had a neutralizing effect against these plants."

Rogan squinted skeptically at him. "Ye're aware that mistletoe's poisonous, uncle, I assume. So ye're sayin' amakarna can negate the stuff?"

"So it would seem. I think you should try testing it and tell me what you come up with. Meantime, I'll use the telephone in the front room and call Leslie."

"Go right ahead," murmured Rogan and returned to muttering in Irish Gaelic while Roarke went out and put the call through. When Leslie answered, he inquired as to her condition, which made her scoff in disgust.

"Nothing's changed, in case you were hoping. I really wish Christian would come home—I bet if he were here, I'd be over this by now. Anyway, what's Rogan up to, have you seen him yet?"

"Yes, in fact, I'm calling you from his greenhouse. I've suggested he work with a few plants that affect the heart, which I've learned amakarna can neutralize. It's reasonable to assume that they may have some sort of effect on the spice in return." He paused for a second or two, then queried, "Leslie, who in Christian's family is currently taking the spice?"

"Just Arnulf's daughters—Anna-Kristina, Gabriella and Margareta. Why?"

"Tell me what effects amakarna has had on them," Roarke requested.

Leslie made a contemplative noise, then said, "Oh yeah, I remember now, because Christian got so upset on their behalf when we all found out. They're all sterile; they can never bear children of their own. It was thought, at least by _jordiska_ doctors, that amakarna had affected their DNA in some way. I remember thinking at the time that that seemed like a heck of a stretch, but I suppose anything's possible with that stuff."

"I see," Roarke said slowly, making a mental note. "And has Christian enlightened you on who in his family has ever been on the spice, from the time the LiSciola clan first began selling it to them?"

"It started with his great-grandfather, King Erik XIII," Leslie said after a moment's rumination. "That's what I remember from what the current count said, that time he tried to sell Christian's soul to Mephistopheles. King Erik's only child was King Lukas VI, Christian's grandfather, and he was on it...and of course, so were Christian's father and oldest brother, the two King Arnulfs."

"And how did amakarna affect them, do you know?" Roarke asked.

"Their hearts," Leslie said. "Christian says they all died of heart problems associated with amakarna—all prematurely, except in his father's case for some reason. Father, what are you trying to get at here? I thought Marina was your guinea pig."

"She is, but if we are to have any hope of finding out how to combat the need for amakarna in ordinary earth humans, it's best to collect symptoms from those who are on the spice. It seemed logical to begin by asking about Christian's family. I'll make some inquiries along that line. Thank you for your assistance, and try to take things easy if you can. Have you been able to eat much?"

"I had some of Karina's _grömmagraut_ for breakfast this morning, and that seems to be acceptable as far as my stomach's concerned. I was surprised—it makes me think of baby food for some reason, but it tastes wonderful. No wonder my daughter's addicted to it." They laughed. "Anyway, I hope I was able to help."

"Yes, I think you've provided a good beginning for us to work with. Thank you, my child, and get some rest." They said their farewells, and Roarke hung up, thinking for a few seconds before letting Rogan know he was leaving. He had a few leads on other amakarna users; it was time to make some contacts and ask some questions.

§ § § - October 9, 2008 - Boston, Massachusetts

Janine's startling revelation was still prowling the back of Christian's mind over a week later, like a shark patrolling coastal waters, but he hadn't had time to really examine it since he'd wormed it out of her. Caught up as he had been in the vortex of the business—a very popular one with many Boston firms—he had found himself having to stay after hours to hold interviews, because he had taken on two design projects, all of Ellen Baselton's unfinished repair work, and a lucrative system-installation deal for a nearby bank branch that included maintenance and repair on a permanent basis. His employees, astonished at the burden he'd put himself under, kept asking if he needed any help; but he felt driven for some reason. He'd had no word at all from Ben Keller, and notice had come from Howard Welles' family that his heart attack had been serious enough that his doctor had decided it was best that he retire altogether. When he'd heard that, Christian had expanded store hours so that the office was open on weekends as well, in an attempt to give himself and his staff some time to catch up on the backlog. There had been no complaints, for in the bad economy of the moment, they were grateful to be working.

But Christian wasn't so immersed that he couldn't see what was going to happen to him if he didn't delegate some of his own tasks as soon as possible. What with all the work he had taken on in the office, he had to go over applications and select candidates after he'd returned to his hotel room for the night; and he hadn't been able to call Leslie except for one brief phone conversation in the middle of the previous weekend. Worry for her was lurking in the back of his brain as well, since she'd reported she still wasn't fully recovered from her bout with stomach flu and was now catering to Susanna, who had indeed managed to come down with it. Sketching out the rudiments of a website design for a client who'd contracted with the company only two days before Christian had arrived in Boston, he promised himself he would call Leslie on Sunday, and put his mind back to the task at hand.

There had been at least one bright spot on this chilly Friday morning: he had already hired on a new employee, a recent MIT grad who had been getting by on a Dunkin Donuts job since receiving his degree in June. Christian had put the young man through a series of tests after conducting his interview, and he'd been so thoroughly impressed by Morgan Sweeney's abilities that he had offered him the job on the spot, installing him at Howard Welles' desk and turning over all of Welles' remaining projects to him. It had taken some of the burden off the rest of his staff, and Morgan had been roundly welcomed by everyone.

Christian had a to-do list that he intended to tackle that very day no matter what; so he put the finishing touches on three repair projects, moved them to the table reserved for customer pickup, had Janine inform the owners that their machines were ready, and sent Andrew Hardy, Tony DiMeo and Katherine Anderson out to continue the installation job at the bank. Then he sat back, leaning the chair as far back as it would go, and took a breather, considering what he needed to do. With Keller AWOL and incommunicado, he himself was _de facto_ manager for the moment, and was handling the projects he'd taken on around calls to his other branches and consultations with his accountants, including the one here in Boston, Ian Forester. His own frantic activity, he realized as he closed his eyes, was well on the way to wearing him out. He still had to hire a replacement for Ellen, and the workload was enough to make him consider hiring an additional tech—but there was one chore he could no longer ignore. He had to track down Ben Keller; he had tried Keller's cell phone several times that week in his rare free moments, with no results.

He sat up, threw a quick glance around the office to make sure things were running smoothly, and then woke up the computer, bringing up Keller's master list of telephone numbers and emergency contacts. After swiftly entering the information Morgan Sweeney had provided when Christian had hired him, the prince shifted to Ben Keller's file and eyed the emergency contact listed there, a Rachel Keller, who lived in Watertown. There were a home number and a cell-phone number; Christian, assuming the woman was Keller's ex-wife and that she had to work, tried the cell first. He waited through three rings; then a harried-sounding female voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, my name is Christian Enstad, of Enstad Computer Services. Are you Mrs. Ben Keller, by any chance?" he asked.

"I was," she said sourly. "Who...oh, wait a minute—you're his boss, right?" Her voice grew deferential, and he sighed inwardly, wishing people would just treat him civilly with-out feeling forced to do so because of his station in life.

"Yes, and I haven't heard from nor seen him since I arrived here nearly two weeks ago. I was wondering if he might have contacted you, or if perhaps you know where he is or where I can reach him."

"I don't talk much with him," said Rachel Keller. "We've been divorced almost a year, and our kids are both grown, so there's not much reason to contact him. Why do you ask?"

"The last I heard," Christian said, choosing his words, "he had fallen ill suddenly, and that was just before I got into town. He seems to have disappeared, and no one has heard anything from him that I'm aware of."

"Well, I don't know...I assume you've tried his cell," Rachel said, and Christian confirmed this. "If he's sick, he could be at home in bed somewhere. Not that that helps. He doesn't have a landline—our son let me know that. You might have to go out to his place and confront him in person." She sighed. "I knew it was gonna happen one of these days. He never stops moving. He's...you know, frenetic. Can't stay still, always has to be doing something or else he gets antsy. I don't know how he does it. He used to wear me out just watching him. Anyway..." She paused a moment, then suggested, "If you can't find him at his place, then contact my son Nolan. He's in pretty regular touch with Ben." She gave Christian her son's number, and Christian thanked her and ended the call, studying Keller's information on the monitor screen. His address was listed as an apartment in Cambridge; Christian tried Keller's cell phone one more time, got nowhere again, and shook his head. It looked as if he'd have to go over there.

He arose and signaled at Ian Forester. "Ian, are you too busy for an excursion?"

Ian stood up too. "No suh, Your Highness, what can I do for you?" Ian had a Boston accent too, but his wasn't as thick as Keller's, so Christian had no trouble understanding him. "I actually just got done with last month's inventory and I could do with a walk."

Christian chuckled. "It's not going to be a walk, I'm afraid. How well do you know this city, if I might ask?"

Ian came to the desk. "Lived here all my life—born and raised, bringin' up my kids heah...this is my home and I know it like the back o'my hand, pahdon the cliché." He grinned. "Where do you want to go?"

"Ben Keller's apartment. I assume you know where this address is." He showed Ian the screen; Ian peered at it and nodded.

"Yeah...Clarendon Ave., off Broadway. That's close to the Arlington line. I can get you there, no problem. Might take a while—traffic in town is always insane."

Christian smiled a little grimly. "Whatever it takes. Thank you, Ian." He raised his voice to address the group. "Ian and I are going on an errand; I don't know how long it'll take, but with some luck we'll be back by lunchtime or a little later. I'll call if it takes longer. Janine, please file these for me and cull out some more—keep an eye out for graduates from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I seem to have had good luck with that."

He glanced over at Morgan Sweeney, who grinned in sheepish acknowledgment and said, "You know, Your Highness, you can just call it MIT like everybody else. It's a lot quicker and easier to say."

Christian laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Morgan, thank you. All right, Ian, let's go."

The office was tucked into the corner of a building on a narrow roadway called Batterymarch Street, so Ian had to do some winding to get them out of Boston and across the Charles River into Cambridge. He had been right about the traffic, and Christian was glad he hadn't bothered to rent a car here. It took them most of half an hour to reach the address Keller lived at, and Ian muttered a couple of mild oaths as he searched for a place to park. It took some time, but he finally snagged one a couple of blocks away and accompanied Christian back to Keller's building. The apartment was on the second floor, so they buzzed a couple of times without a response, before Ian snorted under his breath and began buzzing other apartments till he finally hit pay dirt. An older woman with a suspicious expression on her face came to the street door and cracked it open just enough to ask, "What?"

"We're trying to find Ben Keller," Christian explained. "He lives in the second-floor flat, and we haven't seen him in almost two weeks. Do you know if he's home?"

The woman had been squinting at him as he spoke, and now recognition registered in her features, softening them considerably. "Oh...you're the prince with the computer business in the Financial District, aren'tcha? Keller work for you or somethin'?"

"Yes, he's my office manager," said Christian. "Is he at home? Have you seen him?"

The woman grew thoughtful. "Well, come t'think of it, there was an ambulance here a couple weekends ago. Sunday night, I think. Don't know who they took out, but it coulda been your guy. Might wanna start with Symmes Hospital over in Arlington—that's the nearest one to here."

Ian and Christian both thanked her and returned to Ian's car; it was a surprisingly straightforward trip to the hospital and took no more than ten minutes. It was Christian's notoriety as a prince that got them answers again, for the nurse at the admissions desk told him, "Yeah—as a matter of fact, his son's here now, visiting him. I'll call for you."

"Wonder what happened to Ben?" Ian mused idly. "It's weird to have him out sick—he was never sick before this. In fact..." He looked at Christian with some envy. "He was always so disgustingly healthy. Me, I get wasted by a damn cold."

Christian laughed, though without much humor. "If we're fortunate, we'll have an explanation soon."

The nurse turned to them. "Mr. Keller's son told me to send you both up. He's on the fourth floor." She gave them directions to the elevator and Keller's room.

A young man who couldn't be much past his twenty-fifth birthday or so met them at the door to the room in question; he was muscular and looked as if he played football or boxed. "Mr. Forester, hi," he said, shaking hands with Ian, then peering at Christian with some trepidation. "Hello, sir..."

"Just call me Mr. Enstad," Christian suggested, seizing the chance to dispense with the honorific that normally came with his title. "You must be Ben's son."

The young man nodded, accepting Christian's handshake. "Nolan Keller," he said. "Uh, you can come in if you want...but my dad isn't awake. Actually, he's been in a coma since they brought him here ten days ago."

"Crap," said Ian with great surprise. "That musta been some wicked bad case of...of whatever he's got. How's he look, Nolan?"

"Not good," Nolan said frankly. "C'mon in and take a look for yourselves." He led the two men into the room, and Christian stopped short for a second, taken quite off guard by the sight before him. The figure in the bed was attached to several IV lines and a couple of machines, one of which was clearly a heart monitor; Ben Keller looked like a scarecrow, his emaciated form sallow and his hair sparse and dull. His closed eyes seemed sunken, and his breathing was a little raspy. For some reason the sound poked Christian hard in the deeper recesses of his memory, but try though he might, he couldn't make a connection. He frowned, drifting toward the bed, unable to keep from staring at the man lying in it.

"Damn," Ian breathed from beside him. "Nolan, I'm sorry."

Nolan sighed wearily. "He's been like this ever since they brought him in. I come in every day and talk to him, just in case he wakes up, but he hasn't moved. Well, I mean, the nurses move him to keep him from getting bedsores, you know, but he doesn't move on his own." He stared helplessly at Christian, who had been watching him. "I hadn't seen him in a couple months—my schedule's crazy—but he didn't look nearly this bad. Not even a hint." He caught himself. "Well, I mean...he was too skinny actually, but he was in good health. Said he'd never felt better in his life."

"What did they find in his system that could be pinpointed as a cause?" Christian asked, wishing his memory would quit ringing bells to doors he couldn't open. He knew there had to be a connection there somewhere, but it just wouldn't surface.

"That's just it—nothing," Nolan exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in a helpless gesture. "Nothing at all! His system was clean! Whaddaya make of that?"

Ian shrugged; Christian racked his brain, to no avail, and finally gave up with a sigh. "I'm trying to figure out why this seems familiar, but I can't just yet. However...there's something I think needs investigating. Nolan, do you have a key to your father's flat? With your permission, I'd like to get a look around."

Nolan shrugged agreeably. "Sure, we can go over there right now if you want, Mr. Enstad. I probably need to muck out Dad's kitchen anyway." He grinned weakly, and Ian and Christian chuckled and accompanied him out, Christian casting one last glance back at the shrunken form of Ben Keller as they went.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § – October 9, 2008 – Boston, Massachusetts

Back in Cambridge, Nolan buzzed them in through the same woman who had spoken with Christian earlier. She turned out to be the landlady, and looked aghast when they told her what had happened. "Hope they can help him over there," she said. "Go on up and do whatever you gotta do. Good luck." She patted Nolan's shoulder and watched them climb the stairs before retreating.

In Keller's apartment, they detected a faint but definite odor of food in the process of spoiling, and Nolan groaned. "That's what I thought. Mr. Enstad, I, uh...what were you thinking you might find around here?"

"I have a hunch," Christian said. "If I may, I'd like to get a look around."

"Go ahead," said Nolan. "I figure if you find anything, it might help them bring my dad back to health."

Ian decided to lend Nolan a hand in the kitchen, so Christian wandered through the flat alone. It was sparsely furnished, but the detritus of a long married existence spilled over onto everything: table surfaces, furniture, even the floor. The few shelves were overloaded with books and DVDs; three stacks of CDs teetered on a windowsill; magazines and newspapers were scattered over it all like jimmies on a doughnut; and everything bore a dusty film, as though it hadn't been touched in much longer than the ten days Keller had been in the hospital. Christian tried to imagine how much junk Keller must have had to cart over to this little place from the house he'd probably once shared with his ex-wife, and shook his head, hoping he and Leslie never acquired that much but wryly suspecting they might someday. He made a point of skipping the bathroom after no more than a glance inside; it was an unholy mess, and he wanted nothing to do with it unless Keller's son was there.

He felt even less comfortable with breaching the bedroom, which was in as bad shape as the rest of the place. The unmade bed lacked a spread; the pillows were smashed against the headboard, making Christian think for some reason of squashed insects; and books and papers covered the small tables that flanked the bed. Clothes lay in haphazardly folded piles on the bed, the dresser and the chest of drawers; the closet door stood ajar and contained a lot of empty hangers. There was a peculiar odor in the room that made Christian wrinkle his nose with distaste. He wanted to back out, but instead flipped on the ceiling light and began to gingerly explore the room. Slowly he allowed himself more leeway, peering under piles of clothing at first, then examining the interior of the closet. The books and papers offered no clues either. The smell in the room grew more pervasive when Christian made his way toward the far wall, where a clothes hamper reposed. It was full, and turned out to be the source of the odor. Making another face, the prince set aside two more messy stacks of CDs on the wide sill so he could open the window for a bit.

As he reached for the frame to shove it up, his hand brushed against an opaque black plastic container, half hidden behind the curtain, that toppled over and fell to the floor with a thud; Christian heard the slosh of liquid inside, and stared at it for a moment before forgetting the window and even the smell to pick it up. He shook it experimentally, but only the sloshing sound greeted him. He hesitated a long moment before unscrewing the cap and cautiously sniffing the contents; he detected a peculiar sweetish odor, but because of the color of the container, he couldn't really see what was inside.

He could hear Ian and Nolan in the kitchen, reminding him abruptly that he wasn't alone. He screwed the cap tightly back onto the container and went straight to the kitchen, where Nolan and Ian looked around in surprise. "Find anything?" Ian asked.

Wordlessly Christian raised the container; they stared at it for a few long moments before Nolan questioned, "Where was that?"

"In the bedroom, sitting on the windowsill. Is there something I can use to pour out a little of what's inside?" Christian asked.

Nolan poked in cabinets and finally extracted a shot glass; Christian cleared dirty plates aside on the table and swept a pile of old _Boston Globe_s off a chair with one hand, heedless of where they landed. He twisted the cap off again and carefully poured out a small amount of the liquid into the shot glass. The sweet odor, almost like soda, wafted around his head as he poured; the stuff collecting in the glass was very dark in color.

"What in hell is that?" Nolan demanded in disbelief.

Something tickled Christian's memory again, and he caught his breath, thinking back on all the clues he'd been gathering since he'd arrived. Keller was running a second business and trying to start up a third; he had a lot of energy and never seemed tired; he'd lost a shocking amount of weight and was now in the hospital; the doctors had found nothing in his system... It hit Christian then, and he hissed a quick string of ugly _jordiska_ curses that made Nolan and Ian trade glances.

"What's wrong, Your Highness?" Ian asked.

Christian closed his eyes and shook his head. "This substance is a drug called black lightning—and I'm sorry, Nolan, but I truly believe your father is hooked on it."

§ § § - October 10, 2008 - Fantasy Island

It was early enough on Saturday morning that Roarke and a still-queasy Leslie had just seen their guests off into their fantasies when the desk phone rang. Roarke answered; surprise crossed his features and he said aloud, "Christian?" Leslie's head snapped up.

"Yes, she's right here," Roarke said. "One moment." He handed the phone to his eager daughter, whose face had lit the moment he'd said her husband's name.

"Christian?" she exclaimed. "Where've you been all week?"

"I'm so sorry, my Rose," he said, and she could hear in his voice that he truly meant it. "If I told you what's been going on here, I'm not sure you'd believe it. I've had to take on my share of the backlog at the office here, and atop that I needed to find Ben Keller—which I did. To shorten this very long story, he's in the hospital because it appears he's a long-term user of black lightning."

Leslie gasped. "Are you serious?" She shot Roarke a look and hastily pressed the button that would put Christian on the speakerphone. "How on earth did you find out?"

She and Roarke listened in shock while Christian told them about his investigations. "We've just left Keller's flat and we're on the way to the hospital. Before we left, however, we went through the bathroom, and Keller's son found three or four syringes. There was a small collection of prescription medicines in the cabinet as well, and we took them all, just in case any of them have anything to do with Keller's current condition. But I strongly suspect black lightning is the sole culprit. I would ask your father for the antidote, if he happens to have any on hand and can send it here via overnight express."

"Well, I don't know...it's been quite a while since we needed it," Leslie said slowly, staring at Roarke, remembering a guest named Shara Foster who had visited the island with her cousin and sisters and turned out also to be an addict. "Father...?"

"The last time I needed it was twelve years ago, yes," Roarke confirmed, "and it has a shelf life. But simply shipping out a supply of the antidote may not be the full answer. For one thing, we're lacking some information. Do you know how long Mr. Keller has been using the drug? That has strong bearing on the effectiveness of the antidote."

"Does it?" Christian said, sounding startled. "One moment, Mr. Roarke." They could hear his voice, a bit muffled, asking questions; it wasn't long before he was back on. "Keller's son tells me he wasn't aware his father was using _any_ kind of drug. In any case, I need answers, and the only way we can get them is if Keller awakens. He's in a coma."

Roarke was silent for a moment before he met Leslie's gaze; they were both thinking the same thing. "We woke up Shara Foster the same night she collapsed," Leslie said aloud, "remember, Father?"

"Yes, and she had been on the drug for approximately three years, as she told us," he said, for Christian's benefit. "How long has Mr. Keller been in his current condition?"

"Since the day I arrived here," Christian said. "Janine picked me up at Logan when I was expecting Keller to do it, and told me he had called her and said he was too sick. He must have collapsed not very long thereafter, since it's my understanding that he was taken to the hospital that same night."

"You may be able to make educated guesses at some of the answers we need if you ask Mr. Keller's son a few questions," Roarke said.

"I'm afraid I don't know what I should ask," Christian protested.

"Leave that to me. Before you do, tell me whether you personally have ever noticed anything about Ben Keller that would fit the signs of one addicted to black lightning."

Christian sighed audibly into the phone before speaking. "Nothing that struck me as unusual, although now that I look back, I recall Keller telling me during our first-ever meeting that he had operated several businesses around the Boston area and was looking to work for me in particular. I recall him as appearing fit and trim back then, and I remember thinking he was quite forward, very eager, almost...almost capsizing the boat in his zeal to get started on the whole idea."

"Capsizing what boat?" Leslie put in.

Christian laughed. "Forgive me—I translated one of our slang phrases. It means that he wanted so badly to begin carrying out his plans that he could barely be restrained from leaping ahead with it and perhaps doing something rash."

"We'd say 'champing at the bit'," Leslie said, "but I see what you're getting at. So in other words, it looked like he had a lot of get-up-and-go."

"Get up and...?" Christian began.

Leslie rolled her eyes and said through a laugh, "Energy, my love. Well, that _is_ one sign, but that doesn't necessarily mean he was on it then."

"I'm not an expert," Christian said. "I met him only that one time there, and then not so long thereafter when I was ready to begin hiring the staff. He still seemed the same at the time, and if he had changed at all, it was too subtle for me to notice."

"Very well then...ask Mr. Keller's son if his father has always been as energetic as he appeared to be to you," Roarke instructed. "And if not, how long he has been so."

They heard Christian relay the question, and a moment later he delivered the reply: "He says he can recall his father being less active when he was a child, up till about the time he reached his mid-teens or so. Then he had much more energy and enthusiasm, was always restless and trying to find something else to do. He became a workaholic, as I believe the word goes, and there were quite a few occasions when Nolan says his father was holding down two jobs at once without breaking stride." He paused, and they heard a fainter voice adding something in the background. "Oh, and Nolan tells me he has never before seen his father sick—this is the first time ever that he knows of."

"Interesting," Roarke mused. "What about Mr. Keller's sleep habits?"

"He apparently doesn't seem to need to sleep more than three or four hours a night," Christian passed on Nolan Keller's response. "And Nolan says he can recall that within a couple of months after his father gained all that extra energy, there was visible weight loss. It sounds to me like a classic case of black-lightning addiction."

"Ask Nolan how long ago he first noticed this. As exactly as possible," said Leslie.

Christian's pause was broken by a muffled oath in _jordiska_ before he told them, "He says it's been just about ten years. He's twenty-four now and says he had just begun high school when all this became noticeable."

"Ten years!" blurted Leslie, staring at Roarke, who wore an uncharacteristic look of utter surprise. "Is that average, Father?"

"It's extraordinary," Roarke said, letting his amazement show in his voice. "By all rights, Ben Keller should have long since perished of the addiction. The drug draws on the body's deepest, innermost reserves to provide the extra energy, and that reserve cannot last forever. On the average it takes approximately four years—less for some. Mr. Keller's is a most unusual case indeed." He paused for a second or two. "I'll have to make up a fresh batch of the antidote, Christian, but I'll see to it that it goes out on the very next charter and leave explicit instructions that it be delivered to you overnight. Will you be at your office?"

"Yes, I've had to open on weekends—including Sundays—to give us all a chance to try to catch up on the work that my two missing employees left behind. I'll give you the Batterymarch Street address." Leslie grabbed a pen and notepad, and wrote down the infor-mation as Christian dictated it. "And now that I know what I know, I'm deeply sorry again, Leslie, my Rose, but it looks as if I'll have to hire a temporary manager to keep the place going until Keller can return to work, if that's possible. Which, damn everything, will extend my timetable another week. I'm sorry."

Leslie blew out a breath. "Well," she said, trying to put a good face on it, "it's already been almost two weeks since you left, so that's something. Just take care of yourself, and we promise the antidote will be on its way in a couple of hours at the most."

Once they had broken contact, she stared at Roarke. "Ten years! Do you think Keller will actually bounce back from that?"

Roarke folded his hands in front of him on the desktop, his expression grim. "I don't know, Leslie. Only time will tell." He focused on her and arose. "If you'll handle things for me here, I'll go and prepare the antidote."

Leslie watched him depart the room, wondering what progress Rogan and Marina might have made on their own research. _Research and...whatever else they call it. Dare we call it a cure?_ She sighed and hoped that the extra time Christian was away would give them a little better chance of coming across something, but she wasn't very optimistic.

Roarke got the antidote on the next charter as promised, then took Leslie with him to the B&B and around back to the greenhouse. This time Marina was in the back room with Rogan, while Lucan sat beneath the table containing the amakarna plants, shooting marbles with the unprocessed seeds that Rogan was just now harvesting. Leslie laughed. "Hey, that's a great way to kill the boredom." She glanced up and focused on Marina, who smiled. "Hi, Marina, how are you?"

"Hello, Leslie. We could be better. I don't want to insult you, but you don't look as well as you should either."

"Oh, it's just this stupid stomach flu that won't let up. I don't throw up every day though, so maybe I'm coming out of it. I take it this is your son."

"Yes, that's Lucan. He and Rogan's son have become friends, and they seem to have a lot of fun together even though Rory's so much older."

"I think Rory likes the idea of being a big brother," Rogan commented, pulling the last amakarna seed off its parent plant and squatting to round up the loose seeds that Lucan was playing with. "I presume you've come over here to see what progress we've made."

"Yes, do you have anything at all?" Roarke asked.

Rogan straightened up and grinned. "For a change, we've good news, uncle. You were right about the standoff between amakarna on the one side and digitalis, valerian and even mistletoe on the other. I'm amazed, really. It's funny how in small doses, those three herbs are beneficial for the heart...Marina was more than willing to try each one of them, and they all work, but..." He caught himself and his expression shifted. "Unfortunately, none of them have a permanent effect. Within a couple of days, she goes back to needing the spice again. What have _you_ learned, then?"

"That, among earth humans on the spice, the affected systems follow a very strict pattern with no exceptions that I've discovered. In men, amakarna affects the cardiovascular system, specifically the heart itself; in women, it's the reproductive system, most particularly the ovaries. I have asked those users whom I've contacted to try to find others and to get this information from them; if we are to have any success with this project, we must reach as many people as we can."

"There're always exceptions to every rule," Rogan mused, "and I'm sure we'll hear from some of them eventually. But it seems so far that if we can bring this line of work to fruition, we should be able to help the majority of people on the stuff. So what works on women, then? We've found the best plants for the heart, let's see what would be good for the reproductive system."

Leslie and Marina looked at each other, and Marina leaned over, tilting her head, to peer at Rogan. "Oh, that I know. I've worked with those herbs myself for years—I think it was the only way I was able to conceive and bear Lucan." Roarke and Rogan turned to her expectantly, and she glanced past Rogan into the main section of the greenhouse. "We will need yarrow—pink or white, it doesn't matter which. We can also try the stems of a plant called waterpepper, and there's the essential oil from rue. They all helped me, I think."

Leslie's mind started to run. "You took all those things while you were trying to get pregnant?" she asked.

"At different times, yes," said Marina. "Why?"

Leslie thought a little, half aware of everyone's attention on her. "And I guess you tried each of those heart medicines in succession," she murmured. "Yet you said they worked only a couple of days at a time."

"What're you getting at?" Rogan pressed her.

Leslie looked up at her cousin. "Why don't you try using all of them in the same solution, at the same time? It sounds to me like each one has some potential on its own, but not quite enough. If you combine them, maybe their aggregate strength will be enough to do the trick." Rogan's mouth dropped open; Roarke smiled with gentle pride, and even Marina looked impressed. "Hey, it's worth a try, isn't it?"

"Why didn't I think of that? Maybe you have something there!" Rogan burst out, as excited as Leslie had ever seen him.

"Perhaps it would work the same way with the herbs for the reproductive system," Marina added; Rogan's enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. "I'll help you gather the items we need, Rogan, and we'll distill the essences so that they can be soluble in a liquid."

"Don't forget the dewdrops from the lady's myrtle," Roarke offered. "As I said, I have had occasion to use them only twice, but they didn't fail me."

"Right," Rogan said, already on his way into the main room of the greenhouse. "I just happen to have all those plants here, actually, thanks to all the experimental tisanes Dr. Ordoñez' wife was asking after." He strode into the room with Marina flitting after him, and Roarke and Leslie looked at each other.

"Very good thinking, my child," Roarke said, grasping her shoulder. "As for you—I think it's time you went to your doctor. You've been dealing with this stomach flu entirely too long, and sooner or later I'll need you in a fantasy—thus we can't have you rushing off to the bathroom at an inopportune moment. I'm sure Dr. Lambert will be able to find a medication that will help you recover once and for all."

"Okay, okay. I suppose you want me to go today," Leslie pretended to grumble. In truth, she'd been considering the idea herself for a while, since both Lauren and Noelle had long since gotten back to normal from their own rounds with the illness and were as good as new. "But since it hasn't been that long since we sent the guests off, I think you have the time to spare to come with me."

Roarke chuckled. "Very well, if only to see that you actually go to Dr. Lambert's office. However, I'll have to drop you off there, as I have some appointments on the other side of the island that cannot be missed. I'm sure Dr. Lambert will be able to help."

"I hope so. I'm just sick and tired of the constant queasiness, and I'm especially fed up with Mariki's badgering. You know," she remarked as she accompanied Roarke out of the greenhouse and to the rover, "sometimes I think she doesn't believe it when I get sick, and she just picks on me for something to break the tedium." She grinned when Roarke laughed, and found herself looking forward to talking with her doctor.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § - October 11, 2008 - Boston, Massachusetts

The package arrived special delivery for Christian at his office, and he accepted it with relieved thanks. By now his entire staff here knew what had happened to Ben Keller, since Christian had found it necessary to quell a few rumors circulating among them and thought it was best that they know the truth. He had managed to hire a replacement tech for Ellen Baselton during the afternoon; Roger Wong—another MIT graduate—was due to begin work on Monday.

Christian kept the office open this Saturday till five, then sent everyone except Ian Forester home for the night and prevailed upon him to go over to the hospital in Arlington for another visit to Keller's room. They had by this time gained an anxious ally in Keller's son, who insisted on coming with them; so they waited till he met them at the office before going out to the parking garage and taking Ian's car to Arlington.

On the way there, Christian opened the package and found inside a note from Leslie, which read: _Hi, my love, here's the antidote. If it works, please let us know. Father made up only enough for one dose, because he's so low on the supply of some of the ingredients and will need time to collect more. But he isn't sure even fresh antidote will be successful, only because of the length of time Keller's been on that drug. So Father's very interested in the results. Call as soon as you can—I love you! Love, Leslie._

He smiled at the note, folded it and slipped it into an inside pocket of his suit jacket; then he lifted out one of Roarke's signature mini-decanters, made of ornate lead crystal in a complex raised-relief design with a matching stopper that had an overly large knob. The liquid inside was pale gold in color and completely filled the bottle; Roarke had sealed it so that it wouldn't spill or leak in transit, and as Christian tilted the little jar, he wondered whether Roarke expected him to use the entire contents. Considering how long Keller had evidently been using black lightning, he presumed they'd have to.

He pocketed the decanter as Ian pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Nolan got them in with no trouble at all. "Did you get the stuff for Dad, Mr. Enstad?" he asked once they were in the elevator.

Christian nodded. "My father-in-law sent it overnight." He withdrew the decanter and examined the contents again, then looked wryly at his companions. "So tell me, do we get a nurse, tell her the truth of our suspicions, and have her administer the antidote...or do we try to figure out how to sneak it into one of his IV tubes?"

Nolan and Ian grinned tentatively at each other, clearly both hoping Christian was joking; their smiles died when they realized he was waiting expectantly. Nolan shrugged. "Well, unless one of us knows how to fill up and connect an IV bag, maybe we oughta find a nurse and explain to her what the stuff is and what it's for."

"This is one time your fame might come in handy, Your Highness," Ian added.

"Ach, please don't even mention that," Christian groaned, making them chuckle as the elevator reached the fourth floor and the doors slid open. "Although you have a point; some things are unavoidable, it seems."

There was a nurse in Keller's room when they came in, just changing out an empty IV bag for a full one. "Excuse me...before you put that new one in, could you administer this stuff to my dad?" Nolan asked her, pointing at the decanter Christian held.

The nurse squinted suspiciously at it. "What is it?"

"It's a medicine," Christian explained. "My father-in-law sent it specifically for this patient, and the sooner we administer it, the better. There's a rare and particular something wrong with this man, which has no hope of resolution other than this."

The nurse recognized him, but held her ground nonetheless. "Prince Christian, I'll have to ask you to explain more fully. We can't just give him some kind of mysterious medicine on your say-so alone, or even his son's."

Nolan caught Christian's frown and blurted out with a trace of desperation in his voice, "We figured out my dad's been using that drug black lightning, and this is the only thing that'll get him out of his coma."

The nurse stared at him, then at Christian, who nodded once or twice. She threw Nolan another skeptical look, then reached for the chart on the clipboard that hung on the wall near Keller's bed. "Let me review the details," she muttered.

"Go ahead," Nolan said, "but I'm the one who answered all the doctor's questions when my dad was first brought in. It's all there. The weight loss, the complete exhaustion, the whole thing."

The nurse read the chart at least twice by Christian's calculation; then she looked up, heaved a long sigh and replaced the clipboard. "I'd better get Mr. Keller's doctor." She left the room, and Christian snorted impatiently and dropped the decanter back into his pocket, letting himself stare at Keller openly for the first time since they'd arrived. He looked as if he hadn't moved at all since the previous day; now that the nurse had departed and they were waiting in silence, Christian noticed the raspy quality of Keller's breathing again. He looked at Nolan and asked, "Do you hear that?"

Nolan followed Christian's gaze as the prince returned it to Keller, tipped his head slightly and listened, then frowned. "That doesn't sound good. He wasn't breathing like that when he was first admitted."

"Does he have asthma or some other sort of respiratory illness?" Christian asked.

"No...he's perfectly healthy. Or at least he was, before this happened." Nolan snapped his mouth shut as the nurse returned with a doctor, a woman some years older than Christian whose hair was mostly gray and whose face bore an intricate network of lifelines, but was kindly. She recognized Christian and nodded deferentially; he nodded back.

"You have some sort of...special medication for Mr. Keller, I hear?" she asked.

Christian displayed the decanter again and explained what it was and why he wanted to administer it. When the doctor heard the words "black lightning", she scowled so fiercely that he did a slight double take. "That crap," she muttered.

"You're familiar with it?" Christian asked, astonished.

The doctor nodded grimly, then backtracked. "Well, I wouldn't say _familiar,_ exactly, but I've had a little experience. I dealt with a case of black-lightning overdose about ten or eleven years ago. It was long enough ago that I didn't remember it well enough off the top of my head to associate Mr. Keller's condition with it. But now that you mention the drug, it all fits." She eyed Keller. "Not that I've ever seen anyone who looked as...as wasted away as he does. But yes, let's give him this antidote." Christian gave her the decanter; she peered at it, commented on the jar, then enlisted the nurse's help in finding a syringe big enough to hold the full contents. The three men watched the doctor fill the syringe and then inject the golden liquid into a vein on Keller's right arm.

"How long will it take to kick in?" Nolan asked.

Everyone looked at Christian, who shrugged. "I don't know. I'm told that the fact he's been on the drug for some ten years may affect the potency of the antidote."

"Ten years? My overdose case had been on the stuff for only two or three, I think," the doctor said, staring at Keller in amazement. "I've seen enough info on black lightning to know that ten years is probably unheard of for length of usage."

They waited for a few minutes; the doctor sent the nurse back on her rounds, but otherwise no one spoke. The sound of Keller's breathing filled the air; the doctor read over the chart again, but said nothing about it. Christian wondered how long Keller had been sounding like that.

Then there came a weak moan from the bed, galvanizing them; Nolan grabbed his father's hand. "Dad? It's me, Nolan. Wake up, Dad."

Ben Keller groaned again in response; then his eyes fluttered open and he stared at Nolan, then at Ian, then finally at Christian, upon which they widened. "Yaw Highness," he managed, in no more than a hoarse whisper. "Wasn't expecting you heah."

"You may recall sending for me," Christian reminded him dryly. "Ben, we know what happened to you. Nolan filled us in on some things, and I found a little incriminating evi-dence. Just how long have you been using black lightning?"

Shock registered in Keller's eyes and he closed them again, despair settling over his pale face. "Little ovah ten yee-ahs. I had to. I needed it."

"For what?" Christian pressed him, consciously moderating his voice.

Keller winced; the doctor straightened and peered at Christian with a jaundiced eye. "Your Highness, he may be awake and lucid, but he's very weak. I wouldn't push him if I were you, no matter how urgent this may be."

"Doc, I gotta tell him," Keller insisted in his rough whisper. "Lemme do it while I can." He shifted his gaze to Christian without waiting for the doctor's consent. "I needed a second job aftah my kids stahtid high school. But it was takin' a lot outta me, so I needed a boostah, some kinda energy source. They-uh was a guy outta Southie who had access to it—I went to school with 'im. Sawr 'im at somebody's birthday pahty and we got to talkin'. I told 'im what I was doin', and he gave me a sample o'the drug. Really did the trick. Had energy to burn, y'know? I was nevah sick, so this just made me feel even bettah."

"How did you pay for it?" Christian wanted to know. "It's quite expensive."

"I was gettin' good deals for yee-ahs, but f'some reason the supply got scarce and the prices went up. That's when I first came to you about stahtin' a branch of yaw computer-repay-uh business. Knew it was a real moneymakah and I wouldn't hafta worry about findin' the cash to pay faw the drug. But my source kept hikin' the rate, and I hadda staht a second business...and a third just a few weeks ago." He closed his eyes again and tried to shake his head, but succeeded only in a few feeble movements back and forth. "I guess it all musta caught up to me."

"More than you know," Christian told him. "You may be a unique case; even my father-in-law was shocked when he heard how long you've been on it. I think he'd like to know how you managed all these years before finally succumbing to the complete drain of your last energy reserves."

"I dunno," Keller whispered. His breathing seemed to have gotten louder; he sounded a little like Darth Vader, Christian found himself thinking. "All's I know is, I'm in heah. Aw, Doc..." He began to gasp. "Doc, I can't—I can't breathe!"

"Dad, hang on!" Nolan urged frantically, while the doctor punched the call button and Keller closed his eyes again, dragging air into his lungs like a long-unused bellows. Once more Christian was visited with the sense that he'd seen this before, had gone through this same experience—and when the rasp of Keller's breathing hit a new and higher volume, it struck him exactly what and when. His father had sounded like this in the last two days before his death, sucking in air with all his concentration, barely able to speak.

"Keller, you take amakarna, don't you?" Christian exploded.

They all gaped at him, then stared at Keller, whose exhausted features had filled with pure resignation. Since it was all he could do just to obtain oxygen, he gave one weak nod and shut his eyes yet again.

Fury and anguish boiled up inside Christian and he turned away from the bed, his head hanging, his ears roaring. _The stupidity,_ he thought in disbelief, _the sheer stupid futility of it. Why, why, __why__?_ He left the room, stumbling a little, trying to find a place he could be alone long enough to collect himself and at last settling for a stall in the men's room, where he silently cursed the fates.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § - October 12, 2008 - Fantasy Island

Leslie was still lying awake in the bed in her old room when her cell phone struck up the chorus to one of her favorite 80s songs. The sound startled her and she twitched in the bed before leaning off the mattress, grabbing her purse and pulling the phone out of the special pocket where she kept it. The ID told her it was Christian. "Hi, my love," she said.

"Leslie...I wish to fate you were here," he said, in a tortured voice she hadn't heard him use for quite a few years. "Right this minute I need you."

"What's wrong?" she exclaimed in alarm.

"This afternoon...this evening...I learned some things I wish I never had to know," he muttered, making her frown in bewilderment. "I've been sitting here in the men's room at a hospital near Boston for the last hour, because I'm not fit to face people. So I had to be..." His voice broke and he tried again. "I had to be tracked down to be informed that Ben Keller died about fifteen minutes ago."

Leslie gasped loudly. "Ohmigod, Christian, oh no," she breathed. "That's such a shame...but why do you sound so broken up over it?"

"Because it was amakarna that killed him," Christian told her, his voice now flat but shaky with his effort at control. "He was put on amakarna in his infancy. No one had any idea, including his son, and I have no idea how on earth he kept it a secret for so long. And I...I realized it because...because his breathing was loud and labored—just as my father's was in his last days. If they do an autopsy, and I suspect they will, they'll find traces of the spice in his heart, as with my father and grandfather." He fell silent while Leslie goggled at the wall, in that numb moment of shock before the avalanche of full acceptance; then he spat, _"Amakarna!"_ and she flinched. "That damn spice! How I loathe it!"

Leslie crammed a fist against her lips, closed her eyes and rocked back and forth in her seated position in the bed. In that moment she wanted so desperately to tell Christian about Rogan and Marina's research that she felt crushed under the weight of her promise to Roarke that she wouldn't. Only when Christian called her name did she dare respond. "I'm here, my love. Oh, I can't believe this..." She swallowed thickly. "Christian, my love, didn't the antidote work?"

"Yes, it did," he assured her. "It woke him up long enough for him to answer my questions about his addiction to black lightning. But his breathing began to get exponentially worse, and I finally remembered where I'd encountered that before—with my father, as I said. He had been breathing like that last night when my accountant here brought me in to see him. I just couldn't recall why I was feeling déjà vu, till it got so bad in Keller's last moments. And that's when I knew he took the spice too."

"I'd tell Father, but he's still out, and I decided to go to bed a little early. I wasn't asleep, though." She had a good reason for not being asleep, but she wasn't ready to tell anyone, not even her husband. "But I'll let him know when he gets in. Oh, Christian, I'm so sorry. What a shock. I guess you'll be there even longer now."

"Possibly. I did at least hire two new techs, and since now it seems I'll be here long enough to attend Keller's funeral, all I can do is promise that I'll try my best to find a new manager in the time we're waiting while the arrangements are made. I've been considering taking on an extra technician, but I haven't made a final decision on that yet. As badly as this place needs a manager, I feel guilty about arranging for a replacement so quickly."

"You can't help it, my love," Leslie said, feeling her own guilt again for leaving Christian out of the loop on the research issue. "I...I just wish you didn't feel as if you have to vet every single new hire, in every branch. With your offices so far-flung, it's just incredibly inconvenient for you to personally screen and hire all your employees."

"My darling, you know I've always been like that," he said. "It's just one of my quirks, I'm afraid. But I'll go to all the lengths I can to get them hired as soon as possible. I'm more than ready to come home, especially now, but I can't."

Her throat began to close and the backs of her eyes to sting. "I wish you could come home right now myself. I still don't feel that great, but at least I've been to the doctor and she gave me something for the nausea." She bit her lip before she revealed any more, terrified of his reaction when he was already under enough strain.

"Good, my Rose, I'm glad to hear that. Tell me, how are the children?"

It was almost a relief to turn to something more lighthearted as she updated him on the triplets' antics and other mundane matters. They shared a few chuckles; then Christian let out a sigh and said, "Well, all right, I guess I'd better get myself together and face the world once more. Thank fate, it really helped me to talk to you. When I have more news, I'll call again. Sleep well, my Rose, and I love you."

"I love you too, my darling," she said, and he murmured a goodnight and ended the call in his characteristic blunt way. She dropped the phone, cursed sharply and slammed a fist onto the mattress, and then burst into tears.

§ § §

In the morning she met Roarke at breakfast, with the triplets, after a fitful night's sleep. He studied her curiously as she got the children settled at the table; when she took her own chair, he inquired, "How did you sleep, Leslie?"

"Not that well," she admitted, knowing from long experience the futility of trying to put one over on her father once he'd taken note of something.

"You didn't tell me what happened at Dr. Lambert's office yesterday," Roarke commented, helping Tobias put some fruit on his plate.

A hot-and-cold feeling swept through Leslie from head to toe and back again, like reverberating ripples in a pond, but she managed to sound dismissive. "Oh, she just heard me out and gave me some nausea medication, and told me to come back in a month if I wasn't feeling any better." It was a partial prevarication; she had her reasons for it. "That's all there was to it." She pulled in a breath and changed the subject before Roarke could attempt further pursuit. "Christian called last night, late."

"Oh? What news did he have?" asked Roarke, now filling his own plate.

Leslie winced. "Well, for one thing...Ben Keller died."

That stilled Roarke completely; he stared at Leslie in astonishment. "Indeed! I am sure it came as quite a shock to Christian."

"More than you know." She told Roarke what Christian had told her, and when she revealed that Christian had deduced that Keller was on amakarna, Roarke closed his eyes for just a second, then shook his head and set down his plate.

"A double tragedy," he said softly. "And it explains why he was able to tolerate black lightning for so long. It would have boosted his health to an optimum level so that he could use the drug for longer than most addicts, although even at that, I am still impressed at the sheer length of time he took it." He focused on Leslie. "Presumably that sets back Christian's expected arrival home even farther."

She nodded glumly. "He said he's already hired the two replacements he needed for the other employees, but now he has to find a new manager, and he's thinking of taking on an extra worker too. Oh, Father, he was so upset about the reason for Keller's death...I wanted to tell him about Rogan and Marina's project so badly."

"Not until there are concrete results, Leslie," Roarke warned her. "Especially now, in light of Mr. Keller's decease, I see no need to inform Christian unless we have a favorable outcome. You'll say nothing until then."

"I know...I won't," she agreed reluctantly. "I just don't like it, that's all."

Roarke smiled. "I understand completely, my child, but it's best this way. Now, if Dr. Lambert's medication is working, I suggest you have some breakfast; it will be a busy day."

He was right, and Leslie's enforced running around and tending to the demands of her father's business kept her mind distracted for the most part. The weekend passed with no further incident, except just after supper on Sunday. The fantasies had been brought to a close and Roarke was tending to paperwork, while Leslie sorted through the mail. At that point there was a knock, and Leslie looked up in surprise while Roarke called, "Come in."

Their visitor was Michiko, whom Leslie hadn't seen since the Hollywood-musical fantasy in which she had participated. "Come on in and sit down," Leslie urged, her mood lightening considerably. "I'm really glad to see you."

"Good...now I feel less guilty about intruding on you at this hour," Michiko said with a wan smile. Leslie grinned back and set the envelopes on the tea table as Michiko sank into a chair. Roarke glanced up at them with a small smile and returned to his work. "I finally decided I needed to let it out, like Mr. Roarke advised me to a few weeks ago. Mostly I procrastinated because I kept telling myself there wasn't any hope."

"Hope for what?" Leslie asked.

"For this relationship." Michiko drew in a breath. "I swear I don't understand it at all. It should never have happened to me, only a couple of months after Errico's death. It makes me feel as if I'm just discarding his memory and moving right along."

Leslie recalled Michiko's mood after she'd been released from her role in Mitchell Reardon's fantasy, and Reardon's wistful longing for a certain blonde chorus girl as he departed that Monday morning. "Then it's just what I was thinking...you and Mitchell Reardon started falling in love that weekend, didn't you?"

Michiko hung her head, nodding it a little in desolation. "That's why I said I kept telling myself it was best this way. He has no clue at all who I really am, and I shouldn't even be thinking of falling for someone else when I'm still in mourning for Errico...and especially when Cat and I are still barely speaking. She already thinks Errico's death is my fault, and she refuses to forgive me for making her leave Arcolos. I'd never get her blessing for another relationship. I need to mend fences with my daughter before I can consider anything else, in any case. I know it—I know what I'm doing is the best thing for us all. But I have dreams at night, now and then. Mitch was everything I once daydreamed about in a love interest, and it was such a beautiful weekend."

For the first time Roarke spoke from his desk. "Michiko, has it not occurred to you that perhaps you are merely idealizing this man? You're right to be cautious, and you have many reasons for it—in addition to those you stated, there is also the fact that you had a mere two days of companionship, and under your circumstances you could hardly expect to build a solid, lasting relationship on such a meager base."

"Don't think that hasn't occurred to me too, Mr. Roarke," Michiko assured him. "But the ugly truth is that those feelings and dreams just refuse to go away." She ran both hands through her hair, despair engulfing her even as Leslie watched. "My life's fallen apart in just the space of a few months. My husband's dead, my daughter hates me, and my life has no purpose. If I'd...if I had died along with Errico, at least Cat could have stayed in Arcolos and grown up under her brother's protection. Sometimes I think that's what she wants."

"Michiko, stop thinking like that," said Leslie angrily. "Fine, so Errico's gone, and maybe that means you have to stay within certain societal parameters, especially someone as well-known as you. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve a life of your own, to lead as you please; and besides, you can't control the machinations of love. Love does what it wants, when it wants. The problem is..." She hesitated, her voice softening. "Father's right. You've got an awful dilemma here. You're getting the worst of it, too—Mitchell Reardon thinks he just had a quick romance with someone from the past, and he'll move on. It's as you said, he wouldn't have the least idea it was you, Queen Michiko of Arcolos, that he was really falling for, instead of a struggling, anonymous chorus girl in a 1940s movie."

"And as harsh as it sounds," Roarke added, not without sympathy, "you may very well find that Mr. Reardon would have fallen readily for the chorus girl, but not at all for the queen of Arcolos."

Michiko's face crumpled and she nodded again, looking beaten. "I know," she mumbled, barely audibly. "I know it, but I guess I had to be made to see it for myself. I...I have other things to resolve anyway, more important things."

"Never give up hope, Michiko," Roarke advised gently. "One day things may be different, and by then perhaps you will have regained your equilibrium. Until then, however, as you said, you have more immediate concerns. I wish you luck."

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke. Thank you both." Michiko pushed herself to her feet, took a deep breath and let her head fall back. "At least my house is about half finished, and the builders think they might get done ahead of schedule after all, so that's one thing in my life that's going right. I just wish I knew what to do about Cat."

"Cat's a stubborn kid," Leslie remarked with a wry grin. "Not to mention that she's probably used to getting her way just because she's royalty. She gets that from Errico. It might be better after your house is done and you two move in; then she'll have a room of her own and all her own things around her again, and it might give her enough of a sense of security to start rebuilding the bridge. So hang in there."

Michiko smiled as Leslie accompanied her to the inner-foyer door. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Leslie...I knew I came to the right place."

The two friends hugged each other, and Leslie whispered, "And who knows—maybe someday Mitchell Reardon will be back, looking for that chorus girl." They snickered softly, then bid each other good night.

October 17, 2008

By the end of the week there was extremely good news from Rogan and Marina: after taking three doses of their latest infusion—which turned out to be mixed in a base solution of liquid chlorophyll—Marina had stopped using amakarna and so far had been doing fine for three days. "Look here," Rogan said, displaying a plain glass carafe of greenish liquid at them. "Chlorophyll normally is very unstable as a liquid and has to be produced as a powder so it doesn't get rancid and unusable—but I performed just a touch of the clan magic on it, so that it will remain stable, palatable and easily mixed with other liquids. No, Leslie, you aren't allowed to ask me what." He winked at the face Leslie made at him, and they both grinned. "We consulted a bit with Julie too, and she got in touch with her sister Delphine, and between them and the lore they unearthed, we have all the ingredients in the proper proportions. All we need do now is test it. It turns out, after all the experimenting I did with that green stuff Marina's been taking instead of the full spice, that it's a chlorophyll analogue, just as I thought, uncle."

"Chlorophyll?" Leslie said, amazed. "I didn't realize you could take it straight. I mean, I know we eat it all the time whenever we have green salads, but there can't be a whole lot of the stuff in there, or else nobody would need amakarna."

"Aye, that's good thinking. There's enough in three doses to equal a week's worth of large salads that include dark-green leaves, as opposed to simple lettuce. Between that and the plant tisanes we've extracted, we may just have something here. If Marina can go at least a full ten days without showing any deterioration, then I think it'll be safe to say she's cured of the need for the spice. You know it takes only five or six days at the most before the lack of the spice begins to take a toll on the body, uncle."

Roarke nodded. "That's how it averages out, yes. Some take longer, in some it begins sooner. However, I suggest giving the trial fifteen days. After that time has elapsed, all traces of the spice should be cleansed from the body, and if Marina is still in perfect health, we can pronounce the cure a success."

Leslie eyed them but said nothing; as if Roarke sensed something, he turned to her. "You have an objection?"

"No, but I'd like to point out one thing. Marina's part of the LiSciola clan—one of your people, you two. What about plain old run-of-the-mill human beings? Do you think it'll work on them too?"

Roarke gave Rogan a look, and Rogan sighed. "That's part of the problem. We don't have any handy human test subjects. Where do we find them?"

"Volunteers, I suppose," Leslie said. "I imagine there'd be no shortage of those."

Before either Rogan or Roarke could comment, her cell phone began singing, and she started. "I'll take it in the front room. Excuse me." She hurried out as far as the entrance to the greenhouse before answering what turned out to be a call from Christian. "Hi, my love, anything to report?"

"Thank the fates, yes...good news at last. The sad news first: Ben's funeral is to be held tomorrow, so I'm closing the office for the day so that everyone can attend. And that includes—here's the good news—my new manager and one more computer-repair technician. To tell the truth, when I saw Ben's condition in the hospital last week, I knew I would need at least a temporary replacement, so I had already been going through applications. That allowed me to cull out the best ones and conduct my interviews, and I made my choice just yesterday. The manager begins Saturday; I'm going to have the staff show her the ropes, as I've filled her in on whatever I do that's unique to my business methods. That means I'll be on a plane tomorrow night, my Rose, and you can expect to pick me up at the plane dock on the first charter Sunday morning."

"Oh good," Leslie blurted, relief and happiness washing through her—along with a touch of trepidation. She still hadn't told anyone her secret, for she was determined that Christian be the first to hear about it. She needed his reaction, and the comfort of having shared the burden with the most precious person in her life, before she could tell anyone else. "I can't wait to see you. There's a lot of news."

"Is there? Then I look forward to hearing it—but you know the first thing I want to do is be with you. I love you, my Rose—I'm afraid I need to go, there are still a lot of things I have to tie up before I can leave here with a clear conscience. Give the children my love, will you? Oh yes, and are you feeling all right?"

"Pretty much. I'll tell you about it when you get home. I love you too..."

"I know, my Rose. I'll see you soon." He hung up before she could respond, and she had to laugh. It was just so like Christian to steer clear of prolonged goodbyes.

She returned to the back room to find Rogan and Roarke discussing the issue of human volunteers for the untried amakarna cure. "You know, there's something else we haven't touched on yet," she said when there was a break in their conversation. "The cure for the addictive aspect of the stuff, namely. What about that?"

Rogan actually glared at her. "That, you _had_ to bring up, didn't you? This is what worries me about the cure." He scowled at the contents of the carafe he still held. "It so happens that the best cure I've ever found for addictive agents, at least in the clans, is thornapple, or more properly, alkaloids derived from it. It works in earth humans too, but the problem with it is that it's dangerous: it's both poisonous and hallucinogenic. That's the major risk any volunteer would have to face in testing this stuff."

"So the question is, do those on amakarna feel the risk is worth it?" Roarke said softly, glancing back and forth between Rogan and Leslie. "That's what we'll have to discover by sheer chance. How much did you need to add to the cure, Rogan?"

"Enough to make it scary for earth humans," Rogan told him solemnly. "It takes a bit more to be effective with our people, uncle, so that makes it just the more dangerous to them. When you put out the call for volunteers, you'll have to emphasize the drawbacks."

"We have no choice," Roarke said, straightening and gaining a quietly determined look. "Come, Leslie, we need to get the word out."

"Father," she said when they reached the main house, "I've been thinking...maybe I myself should ask Christian's nieces. I mean...we still haven't brought Christian into the loop, and I'm afraid of what he'll do when we finally let him in on it. If I e-mail his nieces, they can make the decision on their own, without any influence from him."

"You're likely to place a great burden indeed on your husband with this news," said Roarke sagely, "but perhaps it's best that we tell him. Yes, go ahead and inform his nieces of the need for test subjects for the cure. But, as Rogan said, make certain to delineate the risk factor very clearly. Only they can decide whether they feel it's worth it."

Leslie nodded and settled down at the computer, thinking nervously that Christian was going to have a burden on him in any case, no matter whether they ultimately told him about the potential cure or not. She swallowed back her trepidation and began drafting an e-mail message for Anna-Kristina, Gabriella and Margareta.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § - October 19, 2008

Leslie's stomach slalomed with a potent mixture of anticipation and dread as she stood at the plane dock Sunday morning, waiting for the eight-o'clock charter to arrive. She had considered waking the children and bringing them with her, but they had been sound asleep when she left and she didn't have the heart to wake them up. As the drone of the seaplane hit her ears and she watched it soar overhead, preparatory to landing, she began to wish, just a little, that she had brought them after all. Her nausea was returning, but it was due as much to nerves as to her lingering condition.

She was determined to tell her husband, no matter what happened. _ It's only fair that he know,_ she reminded herself. _After all, that's why you won't let on to anybody else. You need to know what he'll say, what he'll do—and not just about that, but about his nieces too. Oh, Christian, my love, I hope you won't hate me..._ She made a face at herself for this last absurd thought, but she still wasn't certain she would like his response to what she had to tell him.

The low sputtering of the charter's engine grew louder and she saw the craft round the bend in the lagoon, on its last approach to the dock. The more she watched, the more her gut somersaulted, and in the end she simply couldn't hold back anymore and plunged through the nearest bushes, where she lost what little was in her stomach—mostly acid. Her mouth burned as she spat out the last of it, and she stood for a moment breathing hard, wishing she had thought to bring something with her to settle the physical malaise. But she knew it was as much from nerves as illness. In the end, she gave in and pushed back into the clearing, surprising a few passengers who were crossing the grass as she came out. She smiled sheepishly at them and shifted her gaze to the hatch; her timing was perfect, for Christian was just now climbing out, laptop case in one hand.

He spotted her almost instantly. "Leslie!" he called out, and even from where she stood, she saw his face light up. She had to smile; despite her enormous trepidation, she was happy in the end that he was home, and returned his hard hug in kind, burying her face in his shoulder and breathing him in.

"Ah, my Rose," he murmured, nuzzling her hair. "What a relief to be home."

She wondered how relieved he would feel once he heard what she had to say, but she held her tongue for the moment, clinging to him. After a few more seconds he asked, "Are you all right, my darling? You haven't said a word."

"Don't kiss me," she muttered thickly into his shoulder. "I just threw up."

_"Herregud,"_ he said and laughed. "That's a hell of a welcome home." But his amusement died when she lifted her head and he saw the tears in her eyes. "What's this? Leslie, my Rose, what in the world is wrong? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I _am_ happy to see you," she said, sniffling a little. "It's just...I've got some news, and it's a real doozy. Both of them."

Christian loosened his hold on her and studied her face, his own growing concerned. "I'm not sure what a 'doozy' is, but from the look on your face, I suspect it's going to have quite an impact. Am I going to like this news?"

Leslie winced and ducked her head. "That's the problem—I don't know. But I have to tell you, here and now. You deserve to know." She opened her mouth to spill her secret, and at the last second balked. _Chicken!_ her inner voice taunted. She told it to shut up, and forced herself to look her husband directly in the eye, opting for the easier of the two pieces of news she had. "Well, first of all...there may, just may, be a cure for amakarna dependence. That's why Father and Rogan went to Italy."

He stared at her, frozen in place, for so long that she almost laughed. Before she could question him, though, he blinked and jutted his head forward, almost knocking her forehead with his chin. "A _cure_, you say? For the need for _amakarna?"_ His voice rose so high with incredulity that he sounded like a teenager just entering puberty.

"Well, we're hoping so. Father and Rogan had to have guinea pigs for it, so...well, they brought Marina back with them."

"Marina _LiSciola?"_ he yelped, shocked, and she nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a couple of sharp shakes, and drilled her with an ominous stare. "All right, Leslie, you'd better explain this whole thing to me."

She did so, taking comfort from the fact that he continued to hold her and that his expression grew more and more intrigued and hopeful as she talked. When she paused for a moment to catch her breath, he slowly began to shake his head. _"Herregud. _ I truly never thought such a thing would come to pass. If only Grandfather and Father and even Arnulf could have been with us to see this..."

Leslie cleared her throat, and the eagles with the seven-foot wingspans roared to life in her already queasy stomach once again. "Well, that's the catch, I'm afraid. It's still in the test stage; Marina's just started the trial period I told you about. The problem is that the cure also contains alkaloids from thornapple, to treat the addictive property of the spice...and Rogan said he had to put in a little more than was strictly safe, because of the needs of the clans. That might be more than a human can tolerate."

"And why would that be? What precisely is thornapple?" Christian asked.

"It's an herb that's used in medicine, in small quantities, to treat addiction, among other things. But it...it's a hallucinogenic, and it's poisonous to boot."

Christian muttered a curse in his own tongue and sighed. "It always has to be something, doesn't it. I don't suppose you've managed to find volunteers who are willing to take the risk for the chance of being freed from that damned spice."

Leslie nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yes, we did..." Her gaze skittered away from his as she said softly, "Gabriella volunteered."

His entire body twitched, stiffened, froze; he seized her upper arms and gaped at her. "You told my nieces about this? No, no, no—I won't allow it."

"It's too late," she said, a little frantic. "Gabriella's already on her way here from Lilla Jordsö. Christian, please, you're hurting me!"

It was as if he hadn't heard her. "Leslie Enstad, so help me, I refuse to let you use one of my nieces as a guinea pig when, first of all, no one yet knows whether the stuff will even work, and secondly, it may well be fatal! When Briella gets here, I'll lay down the law to her. She's not to be given that...that...whatever Rogan's brewed up. I simply won't take that chance, and that's the end of it."

"Christian," Leslie cried, and he suddenly saw what he was doing to her and let her go, hugging her hard and apologizing. "My love," she ventured, relaxing slightly, "you know you're going to get an argument from Briella when she gets here and you tell her that. She's of age, you know—she can decide these things for herself."

"I don't care," he muttered, and she could hear the stubbornness and that implacable imperial note in his voice. _Let Gabriella fight it out with him,_ she thought, for she had her own worries. He rocked her back and forth slightly for a few more seconds, then paused a moment before drawing back with a loud sigh and driving a hand through his dark hair, leaving it in disarray. "What else should I know?" he muttered rhetorically, lifting the laptop case he had put down when he first hugged her and going for the two suitcases that the dock attendants had delivered. "I can't imagine there could be any other news that would affect me as this did."

"Oh, I can," she mumbled to herself, watching him collect his luggage.

He had taken a few steps toward the rover waiting nearby before he realized she hadn't moved, and he stopped and turned to see her with her arms wrapped around her stomach. "Leslie, damn it, if there's more, you'd better tell me," he warned, unconsciously issuing a royal command.

She burst into sobs. "I'm pregnant!"

* * *

><p><em>How's that for some year-end bombshells? There will be more in January, so keep watching this space (or your e-mail for story alerts, LOL)...<em>


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